Kings
by Crowsnight66
Summary: After America's flight back to the States is delayed, Russia insists to house him until the weather lets up. But how long will that take? America really doesn't want to stay with Russia longer than he must, but maybe…Russia isn't all that bad. Warnings inside. RusAme. SEQUEL IS POSTED!
1. Lapushka

**Warning: This story is rated to for shounen-ai/yaoi, sexual content, and mentions of abuse/rape.**

 **Summary: After America's flight back to the States is delayed, Russia insists to house him until the weather lets up. But how long will that take? America really doesn't want to stay with Russia longer than he must, but maybe…Russia isn't all the bad.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of the characters (or countries, for that matter).**

 _ **Kings**_

 _Chapter 1: Lapushka_

" _I am a man with his back to the wall, like a freak of nature. On the earth, with no other reason, I run in circles, I run in circles. I am a man and I consider all the horror of my nature. For my trouble, my punishment, I run in circles, I run in circles._

" _You see, I'm not a man. I am the king of illusion. At heart, may I be forgiven. I am the king, the king of fools."_

―" _Je Suis un Homme_ _"/"I Am a Man" by Zazie [English Translation]_

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

Alfred scrolls through Facebook posts and Twitter as the car slowly drives through the heavy snow. Whose idea was it to host the world meeting in December in _Russia_? And so close to Christmas, too. Whoever it was, Alfred mentally curses him or her with every ounce of his being. Despite having his earbuds in, the silence of the car unnerves him, and not even Luke Bryan singing directly in his ear could distract him from the other gigantic occupant in the back of the taxi.

If only he hadn't decided to go out to eat with Kiku before getting a plane ticket. Then this weather wouldn't have kept him off a plane. Kiku, going in the opposite direction as the storm, just hopped the first available flight to Japan, and everyone else had already left.

A hotel would have been fine. Great. Perfect. But no, Ivan decides that he can't allow such a thing.

" _America, I cannot let you stay in a hotel while you are in my country. It would be rude. Come stay with me until the weather clears up,_ da _?"_

As much as Arthur, Francis, Matthew…and well, every country would disagree, Alfred is not an idiot. He's spontaneous, doesn't think things through, is easily distracted, and lives in his own little world sometimes, but he's not stupid. And he knows better than to fight with Ivan, at least on small matters. Besides, if he starts the next Cold War while in Russia without his boss's permission, he knows he'll end up listening to a lecture for three hours and have to clean it up himself.

Lost in thought, Alfred stares out the window. The snow covers trees and mountains now rather than buildings. He just hopes that the taxi driver isn't part of some Russian mafia plan to murder him. That in mind, he shifts slightly so that he feels his holster bump against the seat. And if all else fails, he has extra bullets in his left boot and another pistol in the right.

The taxi finally slows to a stop in front of a house. It's not huge, like Alfred expected, but it's not necessarily small either. It's probably the smallest house for a country he's seen though.

Ivan opens his door, and a blast of icy air makes Alfred hunch his shoulders up against his cheeks. The forecast says the snow won't be letting up for nearly a week; maybe he should get used to it.

Before Alfred can take two steps in the mid-calf deep snow, Ivan has already retrieved the American's suitcase from the trunk and is waiting at the steps of the house. Luckily, the overhang of the porch comes out far enough that the steps are only dusted with snow. Alfred thanks the constructor for that because otherwise, he's certain he would have ended up with his face in concrete and a very amused Russian to deal with.

Alfred marches through the snow until he gets to the trail that Ivan made. How could he walk normally through this much snow? Regardless, it made walking much easier for Alfred.

When he gets to the stairs, he snatches his suitcase from Ivan and mutters, "I can carry my own bag."

"If you insist." Ivan walks up the stairs to the door, unlocking it easily despite his gloves and tiny key.

Instead of a blast of warm air like he expected, Alfred walks into a living room that couldn't have been warmer than forty degrees. The room itself looks rather cozy with an unlit fireplace, one of those corner couches that he loves, a few blankets scattered on said couch, a coffee table cluttered with books and notebooks, and two huge windows, one of which is cushioned and set farther into the wall so that there's plenty of space to sit or even lie down.

"Make yourself at home, America. Would you like something to drink?" Ivan asks as he sheds his heavy overcoat and puts it on the stairway railing on the other side of the door. The steps disappear into a dark second floor while a hallway stretches in the same direction on the other side of the railing.

Alfred gawks at Ivan's red sweater, which seems rather thin. "How can you stand wearing that?! It's freaking freezing in here!"

Ivan's violet eyes widen slightly as he glances at Alfred's still bundled form. "Oh, is it cold? I apologize. Um…" He chews on his bottom lip for a moment before he smiles. "Follow me."

 _That doesn't sound good._ Regardless, Alfred follows Ivan down the hallway. In the darkness, they pass the kitchen and dining room and then a little farther down, a small bathroom. There's a sliding glass door at the end of the hallway, and when Ivan opens it, Alfred finally feels the burst of warmth he's been searching for.

The large room has to be a big as the house itself, and it's made of glass. But it's so warm. Florida warm. Alfred quickly hurries inside.

Sunflowers. Everywhere he looks, there are sunflowers. There's a path that cuts through the center of them that leads to a small open area with a black, metal-mesh table and two matching chairs.

"I will turn on the heat, but you may stay in here until the house is to your liking," Ivan says. "I ask that you not bother the sunflowers, but please sit if you wish." With that, he smiles and turns towards the door. "Will seventy be warm enough for you?"

Alfred nods. "Yeah. Uh, thanks."

"Is no problem. And is pirozhki alright for dinner?"

"Pirozhki?"

"It is…like Italian calzone," Ivan says. "Fried dough filled with other foods."

"Yeah, that sounds fine."

"Great."

And with that, Ivan is gone, leaving Alfred rather confused in some sort of sunflower greenhouse.

Shrugging to himself, Alfred walks to the small table and sets his suitcase in one of the chairs before he begins to pull off the thick clothes that now are suffocating him. An overcoat, a sweatshirt, a sweater, and sweatpants under his trousers.

Just as he's sitting down, his cellphone chirps. A text from Matthew.

" _Did you not make it home? No one's picking up the house phone."_

Alfred types out, _"No, there's a big blizzard, so Russia said that I could stay with him until it settles."_

" _That storm isn't supposed to pass through for almost a week."_

" _I know. Make sure the States don't go out of control for me."_

" _I have ten of my own to control; I'm not taking care of yours, too."_

" _Aw, but they miss Uncle Mattie."_

" _And Quince still can't pronounce your name correctly and calls you_ 'Le petit Mathieu'. _"_

" _Dude, I don't know French."_

"' _The Little Matthew'."_

" _I'm older than you!"_

" _And smaller, and older doesn't count for twins."_

" _Shut up. Just tell Dixie that I'll be late coming home."_

" _Why can't you tell her yourself?"_

" _Because she would insist on calling, and I think that Russia put me in some sort of sunflower purgatory; there might be cameras."_

" _You're being ridiculous."_

" _Am not! Just tell her!"_

" _Alright, but you better call her sometime between now and tomorrow night."_

" _I will. Thanks, Mattie."_

" _You're welcome."_

For the next hour, Alfred plays a dinosaur hunting game on his phone. Then Ivan is calling him inside, apparently for dinner, and so Alfred lugs his suitcase and pile of shed clothing into the house, which at this point isn't as warm as he'd like, but it's definitely an improvement. Maybe he'll put the sweatshirt back on; that should keep him warm enough.

Ivan glances up from where he's setting the table, though with three plates. "Oh, I am sorry. I forgot about your luggage. I will show you to the guest bedroom."

Thankful that the Russian didn't try to carry his bag again, Alfred follows Ivan up the stairs to another hallway, this one with three doors. The one on the right seems to be the bathroom, and the one at the end is probably Ivan's room, considering that the taller male walks into the room on the left. He flicks the light on and steps aside for Alfred to come in. "I apologize that it is dusty. This particular room has not been used…in a while."

Alfred sets his luggage at the end of the bed and then drops his clothes on said bed. The room is somewhat large for a guest bedroom. It has a king-size bed, a dresser, desk, and a bookshelf packed with books, both modern and ancient. There's also a large window that overlooks the snowy pine trees, and a skylight directly over the bed, though it's layered with snow.

"Meow."

Alfred jumps nearly a foot in the air at the sound, his cheeks heating slightly when Ivan giggles, "There you are, Lapushka!"

A huge cat wiggles out from under the bed, mewing as it trots to Ivan, who is now crouched down to pick it up. The thing must be more fluff than it is cat, and it's a dark brown in color. When Ivan picks it up, it rubs its muzzle against his nose and cries again. Alfred can hear it purring from where he stands nearly fifteen feet away.

"I am sorry that he startled you," Ivan says, moving his head in different directions to keep his mouth free of cat fur since the animal is apparently determined to nuzzle Ivan's lips as well as his nose. "He tends to hide in various places around the house and surprise me." He giggles again as the cat licks his cheek before it licks too close to his hairline and shakes its head to rid its mouth of ashen blonde hair. "You are not allergic, are you?"

Alfred shakes his head, and though he'll deny it later, he smiles. "What's its name?"

"Lapushka," Ivan says, setting the critter on the floor. Lapushka looks up at Alfred with dark eyes and moves closer until he's in front of the American. He mews and kneads the carpet, his tail swishing. "Means 'little paw'."

Alfred crouches down and reaches out his hand to pet the cat. With a loud purr, Lapushka stands on his back legs to rub his head against Alfred's hand. His fur is soft and thick, and in the back of his mind, Alfred wonders if that means Ivan brushes him regularly.

Lapushka must decide that Ivan is better than Alfred and returns to his owner, hopping into the Russian's arms and settling with his nose in Ivan's scarf.

"We should eat before the food becomes cold," Ivan says, leading Alfred back downstairs.

As they sit down to eat―Lapushka included, as Ivan set out a saucer of milk and filled the extra plate with beef, mushrooms, and whatever else for the cat―Alfred comments, "I never pegged you for a cat person."

Ivan begins to cut into his pirozhki. "Why is that?"

"Just seems like you'd want a dog. You know, because they're trainable and can stay outside more."

"Dogs are naturally loyal and well-behaved, as their better traits are said to be," Ivan says, glancing at Lapushka, who is gnawing on a strip of beef. "But cats are more independent and rather self-centered."

"Yeah, exactly, so why would you want one?" Alfred asks through a mouthful of the pirozhki. Maybe he would stay longer if he could, just for Ivan's cooking. This is better than pizza! Maybe not better than hamburgers, but still really yummy.

Ivan swallows his bite before he answers, grimacing slightly, but Alfred ignores it. He should take it as a compliment, stupid commie! "It is more significant when a cat follows one around. And I enjoy caring for my little kitty king."

Alfred chokes on his food. He can't decide which is more hilarious: "my little kitty king" or Ivan's straight face as he said it.

"Oh, and that reminds me. Do be careful when you shower; Lapushka will follow you. If he does, just put him out in the hall."

Alfred raises an eyebrow at the other, but decides to take a few gulps of Coca-Cola before he replies, "Seriously? What, does he take showers with you or something?"

" _Da_ , every night."

"And he doesn't…you know, kill you?" Alfred looks at the fluffy cat and can only imagine how ugly things would become if Lapushka was soaked. Then again, Ivan might beat the cat with his faucet for all Alfred knows.

Ivan smiles and shakes his head. "No, I have had Lapushka since he was a tiny kitten. I washed him every night then; I wash him every night now. He did not enjoy it when he was young, but he learned to love it."

At this point, Alfred's plate is nearly licked clean. Cutting off half of his pirozhki, Ivan offers it to the American. "Would you like more?"

 _YES!_ Alfred hesitates. "Dude, you're kind of huge. You should probably eat more than half."

"No, I always have leftovers." Ivan sets the pirozhki on Alfred's plate before he returns to what remains of his portion. "Is alright."

Alfred doesn't need more of an invitation than that.

When Ivan finishes, he scoots his plate to the side. Lapushka mews and hops into Ivan's lap, his front paws on the Russian's chest as he licks his lips in contentment.

Alfred watches quietly as Ivan and Lapushka rub noses a few times, Ivan murmuring things in Russian and Lapushka's purr closer to a roar than anything. He can't remember a time when Ivan has looked so content and…well, happy. His smile is genuine, and even though he's giggling in that childish way, it isn't creepy. It's almost like his way of purring back to Lapushka.

When Lapushka flops down on his back, Alfred can only see his paws as they bat as Ivan's hand, which is waving just above the cat's reach. When the paws finally connect, they drag the hand down to Lapushka's mouth, where Ivan's fingers become a chewtoy for the teeth residing there. However, Ivan just smiles and wiggles his fingers a little.

"Doesn't that hurt? Even if he's declawed, cats bite hard," Alfred mutters, thinking about Arthur's rather unsociable cat from when he was much younger.

Ivan shakes his head. "He keeps his claws in, and no, he does not bite hard when he plays. Is the equivalent to the teeth of a comb."

"You trained him to do that, too?"

" _Da_. Cats are very smart. With treats and rewards, one can train them to do anything."

Alfred pushes his plate away, and suddenly, Lapushka is in his lap, batting Nantucket with a paw.

"Hey! Quit that!" Alfred covers Nantucket with a hand, trying to satisfy the cat by rubbing his head, but Lapushka starts trying to eat his hand instead. "Stop!"

"Lapushka, _nyet_." Ivan follows the statement with something in Russian, and Lapushka looks back at the other with a mew. When Ivan repeats whatever he said, the furball hops down from Alfred's lap and trots into the hallway.

While Ivan gathers up the plates, Alfred asks, "What was that?"

"When I move my plate away, it means playtime. That is all."

"Dude, there is no way you taught your cat to do that," Alfred says, finishing off his Coke. "Cats are smart, but not that smart."

Ivan smiles again, and this time, it's the creepy one. "If I prove otherwise, you must wash the dishes."

"Sure, whatever."

"Lapushka!"

The cat appears in an instant, sitting in the doorway. He makes an odd noise, like a mix between a purr and a meow.

Ivan glances at Alfred. "I will tell him to climb―in Russian, of course―and he will sit on my shoulder, _da_?"

Alfred rolls his eyes and leans against the counter. "If he does, I'll wash the dishes, sure. Whatever you say, Russia."

Ivan moves to stand beside the table, his right hip pressed to the wood, and taps his left shoulder before he says something in Russian, supposedly "climb". Lapushka lets out that weird noise again. Then to Alfred's astonishment―and irritation―he hops onto the table and then onto Ivan's shoulder, wobbling slightly as he crosses behind the Russian's head to sit on the opposite shoulder, the one Ivan tapped.

With a smile, one that Alfred wants to punch off his face, Ivan says, "Once you have finished drying them, you may stack the dishes on the counter; I will put them away later." He reaches up and pets Lapushka. "Now, if you will excuse us, we are going to shower."

"Commie methods of training cats," Alfred mutters under his breath as he moves to the sink.

"You seem to forget so often, America, but I am no longer communist, and Lapushka is not old enough to know about the USSR."

"A great cat life he must have."

Ivan doesn't reply as he walks out of the kitchen, steadying Lapushka with one hand, but otherwise, the cat stays perfectly balanced on his shoulder.

 **Author Note: So what do you think? I'm trying to personify Russia in a different way than most authors do, so I hope that everyone likes the way that turns out. If you liked the chapter, please, Please, PLEASE REVIEW!**


	2. Ornaments

_**Kings**_

 _Chapter 2: Ornaments_

" _The other night, I had a dream. It was a world full of kings and queens. But it was cold, dark as the night. We were the fire on a moonlit sky. We were divided. We were the same. And we were free, but we all wore chains. We couldn't see it, but we created a place between truth and overrated. If I could just see it all, just like a fly on the wall, would I be able to accept what I can't control? And would I share what I saw or just sit back and ignore, like nothing ever happened. Have I seen you before? I'm on the run from a thief I let into my head. I know I hold the key, so don't be scared when I turn and shout."_

―" _Fly on the Wall" by Thousand Foot Krutch_

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

By the time Ivan gathers his clothes and enters the bathroom, Lapushka is already crying impatiently in the shower. Ivan smiles and taps the lower vanity. "Lapushka, brush."

The cat's ears lay back, but he obeys, stepping out of the shower and hopping onto the vanity. On one side of the sink, Ivan has his belongings―a comb, his toothbrush, the usual―and then on the other, the vanity is lowered slightly. There's a stool that he sits on as he grabs Lapushka's comb and begins to pull it through the thick fur. While Lapushka doesn't enjoy the grooming nearly as much as showering, he doesn't complain either, purring and moving accordingly so that Ivan can comb through every bit of his pelt.

"It must be weird to have another person in the house to you, isn't it?" Ivan asks, glad that he can speak Russian again. English is so difficult sometimes.

Lapushka cries, though Ivan knows he's reacting to his voice rather than the words themselves.

"Yes, it is odd. And America of all people. Or countries, I suppose." Ivan runs the comb through a few more times before he pulls away. "Alright, you can get in the shower."

At "shower", Lapushka darts back into the shower and hops up on his ledge, just about ten inches of extra tile in front of showerhead three feet tall so that Ivan can wash his kitties easily. Lapushka isn't the first cat to bathe in this house, but it was a rather odd request for the builders in 1992.

"Do you think the house is cold?" Ivan asks as he turns on the water and waits until it feels warm to him. "Lapushka, test."

Lapushka sticks a paw into the water. Ivan gradually warms it more, little by little, until Lapushka purrs and steps under the spray. With that done, Ivan lets Lapushka stand under the spray for a moment before he detaches the showerhead and thoroughly soaks the cat.

"Do you think countries have the same body temperature as humans? Maybe it changes depending on the region. I don't like the cold, but I always thought that I kept the house pretty warm." Ivan takes the cat shampoo from the soap rack and squeezes some onto his hand. "Maybe America is simply hot-blooded. Now it's far too hot, so I hope you don't mind if I run the fan in the bedroom for the next few days. The storm isn't going to blow over anytime soon."

Lapushka mews.

"And America says that you aren't smart enough to be trained so well. He obviously doesn't know how to train cats. Probably uses a squirt bottle."

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

After he finishes with the dishes, Alfred pulls out his phone. Eight o'clock. Moscow is eight hours ahead of D.C., isn't it?

Leaning on the counter, Alfred dials. It only rings twice.

" _Dad, are you okay? Uncle Mattie said that there was a storm or something."_

"I'm fine, Dixie. I'll probably be in Russia for another week, give or take a few days. I'm not sure."

" _Okay. I'll hold everything together until then."_

"Good." Alfred sighs. "Just keep everyone in line. Last time I was gone for more than a week, Kalani and Nathan tried to start a riot."

" _It wasn't a riot, Dad. And it wasn't just the States; the Provinces were involved, too."_

"Yes, so you said, but I don't think Scott and Allie helped import that much alcohol."

" _Well, they helped some."_ There's a pause on the other end of the line. _"Mary is pleading ignorance."_

"I'm well aware that all of you were involved; that's part of the reason that prohibition didn't work."

" _Anyways, I'll keep everyone in check. Stay safe. Love you."_

"Thanks, Dix. Love you, too."

Alfred ends the call and lets out a breath. Having fifty kids is rough sometimes.

"It seems that you have a mature side as well. I am impressed."

Alfred jumps and turns in midair. In the entrance to the kitchen, Ivan is leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, clad in a t-shirt and jogging pants. And his scarf, of course.

"Yeah, I'm mature, dumb commie," Alfred grumbles.

"And then you disprove my statement," Ivan says as he moves into the kitchen and begins to put away the plates.

"Hey, I'm raising fifty kids! That takes a lot of work, you know!"

Ivan hums.

"Whatever. Do you have a TV here or something?"

" _Da_ , but none of it is in English, so I do not believe it will service you very much."

Alfred huffs, but doesn't complain. He is in Russia after all. "Right. How long will it take for the water to heat back up?"

Ivan pauses as he's putting away the silverware. "I do not know. No longer than an hour, I would think."

"'Kay. If there's nothing else you want, I'm going to wait in my room for it to heat up and then go to bed."

"Alright."

Oo_oO_Oo_oO

As Alfred settles in for the night, he can't help but notice that the room is actually spotless. The sheets are fuzzy from use, but they smell clean and fresh. Did Ivan anticipate the storm? Maybe he's in cahoots with General Winter. It's all a plot to keep Alfred in Russia through Christmas to crush his spirit.

Alfred switches the lamp off and flops down on the pillows. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Now he won't be able to spend Christmas with Matthew, the Provinces, and the States.

No, not all hope is lost! Christmas is his favorite holiday, and he refuses to spend it completely alone.

With that in mind, he jumps up and marches out of the room to the end of the hall. He knocks loudly. "Russia, dude, you alive?"

"Uh, _da_ , you may enter."

Alfred opens the door, but instead of a bed, he finds a desk. And a dresser, a few bookshelves, another padded window like the one in the living room―

"Did you need something?"

"Oh, there you are!" Alfred looks up at the nook in the wall. It's a good seven feet above the floor with a stairway leading to it. Inside, there's a little bit of walking room, but it's mostly taken up by the bed. There's also the biggest beanbag chair he's seen in his life next to a small shelf. The entire ceiling of the small area is glass, and there must be some sort of wiping device on the outside, because it's not covered in snow, moonlight and the lamp lighting the area.

Ivan is sitting in the bed, a book in one hand and Lapushka in his lap. The blanket is pulled up to his chin, which looks rather odd, but Alfred doesn't really care.

"Okay, I was going to ask you something, but seriously, can I sit on your beanbag first? Please? It looks so awesome!" Alfred is practically trembling.

"I am surprised that you asked. _Da_ , go ahead."

"Sweet!" Alfred jogs up the steps and pounces on the beanbag.

"What did you want to ask me?" Ivan asks, putting a bookmark in his book.

Alfred glances at the cover of the book, but it's in Russian. "Oh, yeah, so do you want to do something tomorrow and the day after?"

Ivan's violet eyes light up, and his smile is like the full moon in a forest. " _Da_ , I would love to!"

"Cool. So what kind of stuff do you Russians do on Christmas? I like fireworks. Oh, and we should totally have a big dinner or something on Christmas Eve. I can do some Southern cooking."

"Christmas?" Ivan's smile fades the slightest bit, but Alfred doesn't notice. "I have never celebrated Christmas like an American. Teach me."

"Dude, Christmas is always the best in the USA! You have a Christmas tree, right?"

"Christmas…tree?" Ivan shakes his head slowly.

"Okay, major shopping tomorrow. There has to be somewhere that sells Christmas trees in this country." Alfred shifts to get more comfortable on the beanbag. "And we'll need lights, some ornaments, and stockings…."

Lapushka hops into Alfred's lap while he verbally lists off a million things that Ivan has never heard of, or at least never in this context. After a moment, Ivan says, "There is a pen and pad of paper on the bookshelf."

"Yeah, I'm going to need it," Alfred says, grabbing the mentioned items.

Oo_oO_Oo_oO

"Gift exchange is also part of Christmas, _da_?" Ivan asks as Alfred follows him into a store. "What would you like?"

Alfred huffs. "Dude, you can't just ask what I want."

Ivan frowns, tilting his head. "Why not? If I do not ask, I will not know."

"It has to be a surprise. You have to find something you think I would like."

"But…I do not know what you would like. We are very different nations."

"Get a gift card then," Alfred says, getting a shopping cart and looking around the huge store. "Dude, I can find Christmas in Spanish and English, not Russian."

Ivan directs him to the left. "That seems to be a personal problem. It is not my fault that my language is superior to yours."

"English is way better than Russian! Or any language! It's the best!"

"And why do you think that, _rebyonok_?"

"Because it's awesome!" Alfred glares at the other. "What does that mean?"

"Learn Russian."

"You wish, commie."

Ivan smiles. "Ah, you are mistaken again, America. If you continue to insult me, I will have to correct you."

"Go ahead. I'm not scared of you just because you're big and hide a pipe in your jacket." Alfred's eyes light up when he sees the Christmas trees. "Dude, we should totally get one that's ten feet tall or something!" Then he frowns. "But then it wouldn't fit in the living room."

"Your mood changes very quickly," Ivan comments.

"It's more fun to be happy than mad. Easier, too." Alfred glances through the trees, though they all look the same to Ivan. "Did you know that it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile? Weird world, right? Hey, which one do you want? It's staying in your house after all."

Ivan shrugs. "I do not have a preference."

They spend about an hour picking a small tree, only about five feet tall, and the decorations. Alfred insists on getting the multi-colored lights and red, white, and blue ball ornaments, saying that they can represent Russia and America. Then he finds a star to go on top.

"What special ornament should we get?" Alfred asks, glancing at the singles.

"Special ornament?" Ivan repeats.

Alfred looks at a white cross for a moment before moving on to a candy cane. "Yeah, you're supposed to get a new ornament every year and write the date on the back."

"That would be a lot of ornaments to hang on a tree," Ivan says.

"Well, yeah, but my tree is big. The States help put it up every year and one of them gets to choose the new ornament. This year is Michael's turn."

"Michael?"

"Michigan."

Ivan hums. "It is rather peculiar, is it not?"

"What is?" Alfred crouches down to look at a large snowflake ornament.

"My subjects never became anything like us, so why are your states different?"

Alfred shrugs. "I don't know. I mean, Mattie has his provinces and Kiku has his prefectures. I don't really know if any of the other countries have them." After a moment, he straightens and moves further down the aisle, glancing over the selection of ornaments. "After my Revolution, they started popping up randomly." Then he chuckles. "Delaware and Pennsylvania just sort of showed up at my doorstep, but New Jersey…Jessie couldn't figure out what the door was and instead of crying on my doorstep like a normal person would, he climbed onto the roof―still have no idea how he did it; there weren't any trees or anything―and started jumping."

"Seems like he took after you," Ivan says.

"Shut up."

Ivan finally picks an ornament, which just happens to be the deranged-looking reindeer that Alfred had laughed at a few minutes ago. They pick up wrapping paper and stockings at Alfred's insistence, and after taking some time to pick each other's gifts, go to the register. Of course, Alfred says that Ivan can absolutely not look at his gift and refuses to let him pay the entire bill, but Alfred can't speak Russian and has no idea what a ruble is. When they finally finish loading the car, Alfred is less than happy about going to the grocery store for his "Southern cooking" ingredients and is jumping back and forth between cursing the Russian language and vowing to master it.

Rather tired of the American's complaining, Ivan asks, "So who did you speak with on the phone last night?"

"Hm? That was Dixie." After a moment, Alfred corrects, "Washington D.C., Dixie Carter."

"You put her in charge when you leave?"

Alfred shrugs. "Yeah, pretty much. She _is_ the capital. Mattie and I always have to put her and Quince in charge when we both leave just because the States and Provinces like to get together and cause problems. Kalani and Nathan are really bad about it."

Ivan gives him a questioning look.

"Quince is Québec, Kalani is California, and Nathan is New York. I'm not used to calling them by their state names."

Smiling, Ivan says, "It must always be very lively at your house. I'm sure no one is ever lonely."

"Yeah, I guess." Alfred looks out the window. Snow, buildings, snow, bundled people, snow, and cars. Oh, look, more snow. "They just don't get along the best."

"What do you mean? They are siblings, are they not?"

"How many siblings do you know that get along? Mattie's my brother and all, but so was Arthur at one point. They fight. A lot. The election years are always the worst, but the rest of the time, they sort of get in groups that think the same. The Southern States hang out in the forest and drink, Northeast States drink tea and coffee―did you know that Virginia looks like a girl Arthur? It's weird―and then Ness―Nevada―and Kalani have their own little parties and play poker and stuff." Alfred's hands clench in his lap, but Ivan doesn't mention it. "The Civil War was awful. My people are my people, regardless of their skin color; my mother taught me that, even if my people are the ones that killed her."

Ivan can see Alfred's eyes reflected in the window. The blue is smoldering, the embers of memory still glowing under the water that tries to put it out.

"Thirty-five kids. Can you imagine trying to raise that many children? And eleven seceded because they wanted to keep slavery. Because they thought that it was okay to treat another human like property, like dirt rags, just because that human had a different skin color. They wouldn't listen to reason and started a war instead." Alfred's jaw clenches. "The pain was unimaginable. I could fight within an inch of my life during the Revolution, during the World Wars, but when my kids were holding guns to each other, I couldn't get out of bed, couldn't help, couldn't get between them, nothing."

When Alfred falls silent, Ivan murmurs, "I apologize for making you remember."

"It's fine. Feels good to get it off my chest, you know?"

"No."

"Huh?" The American gives him a weird look.

Ivan clarifies, "I mean, I do not know. Getting it off my chest, as you said."

"Seriously? You mean, you never just vent?" Alfred makes a wild motion with his hands that Ivan doesn't understand. "Just get it out there? You know, like talk about stuff just to talk about it?"

"Why would one do that?" Ivan tilts his head. "I do not understand."

"Well…I mean…" Alfred looks at him again and gives another random gesture. "Your cat! Lapushka; don't you ever talk to him?"

Ivan looks away, blushing lightly. " _D-da_ , it is nice to make conversation with him."

"Wait, he doesn't…talk back or anything, right?"

"America, animals cannot speak."

"Well, yeah, I know that! But you might be insane. Arthur talks to fairies and unicorns and stuff."

Ivan shakes his head. " _Nyet_ , Lapushka has never spoken to me, but he is rather vocal."

"Vocal? Seriously? That cat's practically silent!"

"Around you, _da_ , he is, but that is because he is shy."

"He wasn't shy when he was getting in my lap and stuff."

"That is different."

"Yeah, whatever you say, dude." Alfred shakes his head quickly. "Anyways! My point is that if you talk to your cat, you're venting. Sometimes. I think. You vent when you're upset or mad or something."

Ivan giggles. "Your explanations are rather vague at times."

"Yeah, yeah, we're at the store."

 **Author Note: Bonding time! Next chapter is Southern cooking, Christmas trees, and movies! If you're looking forward to it, please, Please, PLEASE REVIEW!**

 **And thank you guys so much for all the reviews and suggestions! (I can't believe I actually have Russian readers!) And to clear up a few things, I wrote Ivan's house as being so cold because I think he doesn't have the same body temperature as humans; it's decided by the climate of his country. So Matthew and Ivan have low body temperatures, but Lovino and Antonio have rather high body temperatures, if that makes sense.**

 **Thanks again!**

" _ **Rebyonok" – "Child"**_


	3. Soft

_**Kings**_

 _Chapter 3: Soft_

" _I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known. Don't know where it goes, but it's only me, and I walk alone. I walk this empty street on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams, where the city sleeps, and I'm the only one and I walk alone."_

―" _Boulevard of Broken Dreams" by Green Day_

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

"It is much prettier than I thought it would be," Ivan says as Alfred turns on the Christmas lights. The colors aren't as vibrant since it's only late afternoon, but Ivan can't help but smile at the little lights. Lapushka is content to sleep under the tree, his dark pelt rather out of place between the lights above him and red skirt underneath.

"Well, yeah! Christmas trees are awesome!" Alfred splays out on the windowsill bench…thing. He doesn't really know what to call it. "We should put the stockings above the fireplace."

" _Da_ , what is the point of these…socks?" Ivan asks as he lays the mentioned "socks" on the mantle since there aren't hooks.

"You stuff them with goodies. Like chocolates and little stuff like that."

Ivan hums his understanding.

"I guess I should probably start on dinner. And you're helping, by the way."

"Alright. I like to cook."

Alfred stands up and moves to the kitchen.

"What are you going to make?" Ivan asks.

"Not too much. There's only two of us―"

"Three. Lapushka will be fed equally."

Alfred laughs.

"Why are you laughing?" Ivan frowns.

"It's just how seriously you said that! Three then, if it's that important." Alfred begins to pull things from the refrigerator. "I was thinking mashed potatoes, cornbread, macaroni and cheese, and fried chicken. Does that sound good?"

Ivan nods slowly. "I do not think I have eaten those foods in that particular combination with those adjectives."

"You're missing out, Russia. You need to let Tanner and Gina cook for you sometime."

"Translation?"

"Tennessee and Georgia."

At Alfred's request, Ivan begins to peel potatoes while the American runs around doing this and that. Ivan's not really sure on most of it. "Since we are going to be spending Christmas together, you may call me Ivan if you would like."

Alfred proceeds to rip a bag of flour that he had been trying to pry open. With his back turned and concentrating on potatoes, Ivan doesn't notice while Alfred scrambles to clean up the mess before the Russian decides to mock him. "Yeah, sure. You can call me Alfred, too."

Ivan's hand slows over the potato as a smile pulls at his lips. "I can?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, if you're Ivan, I'm Alfred. It's kind of how it works. Besides, we're not really countries right now, are we?"

"I suppose you are correct."

"Seriously? Was that really so hard to say? You could have prevented the Cold War with that sentence!"

" _Nyet_ , I could not."

"Why not?"

"Because I am not the Soviet Union." Ivan starts to peel the potato again, taking off more than he really needs to and nearly cutting himself a few times. That is, he nearly cuts off his finger with a potato peeler. "I realize that you and every other country in NATO before 1991 believe otherwise, but the USSR was his own person. I was simply his representative."

Alfred scoots past him to dispose of the wasted flour. There's still enough for his recipes though. "How did no one know that then? Doesn't sound like a solid excuse to me."

Ivan jabs Alfred in the ribs with his elbow, and Alfred follows it with a punch to the shoulder.

Finishing with the potatoes, Ivan puts the peeler in the sink before he's tempted to do anything else with it while Alfred starts measuring ingredients for the cornbread.

After a deep breath, Ivan says, "It is not an excuse. The Soviet Union was an underhanded, despicable man who took what he pleased. He manipulated the countries under him and punished the ones that didn't obey."

"What, and you just cowered under him the whole time?"

"You are…" Ivan washes his hands quietly and bites his lip.

"I'm what? Spit it out; I'm not going anywhere."

"Then I will return shortly."

With that, Ivan disappears down the hall. Alfred rolls his eyes as he pours the cornbread into a pan and mutters, "Communist coward."

About five minutes later, Alfred is working on the chicken when Ivan walks into the kitchen with a half-empty bottle of vodka in one hand and Lapushka cradled in the other arm.

"Going to get the cat to do your dirty work for you? Didn't work with Cuba, did it?"

"Really?" Ivan sits at the counter, setting the vodka down. "And what about the stations you had in Turkey and Italy? You started that battle, _myshka_."

The sarcasm laces the childish voice like the red stripes on a candy cane, and Alfred ponders poisoning the chicken. But no, that would be a waste of some yummy-looking chicken. Well, it doesn't look yummy yet, but when he's done with it….

Alfred glares at him. "You're the reason I wake up in the mood to kill teddy bears."

"And you are the reason I drink," Ivan says before he takes a swig of vodka.

Lapushka mews from his place on the counter, higher than Alfred's cooking area though. Purring, he rubs his head on Ivan's arm and cries again.

"Suck up," Alfred says.

Ivan scratches behind Lapushka's ear, his expression relaxing from the creepy child façade to simply content. "Cats and dogs are very keen to their masters' emotions." He leans down and rubs his nose against the cat's head. "And a cat's purring does not always mean it is happy."

Alfred's mood flips again. "Really?"

" _Da_. Purring is a self-soothing mechanism, so a cat may purr if it is upset, fearful, angry, or sick. They also purr to soothe the others around them."

"So Lapushka's soothing you or something?"

Ivan shrugs. "Possibly. But he calms me regardless."

Alfred mutters, "Running from arguments to be calmed by a ball of purring fur."

"I would be content to speak with you more often if you would stop provoking arguments in the first place."

"Just stating facts."

A growl erupts from the counter and Alfred all but jumps, thinking that it came from Ivan, which would be downright _freaky_. However, when he looks away from the chicken, Lapushka is glaring at him with his ears laid back, tail lashing behind him. Ivan giggles with a smile. "What was that, _myshka_?"

Alfred doesn't repeat the comment because while he is in no way scared of Ivan…the cat has claws. And teeth. And yes, Ivan has bitten him before―the creep, bringing teeth to a fistfight―and it was not pleasant, but he can easily punch Ivan and fight back. Cats are sneaky. And if he punches or so much as touches a hair on Lapushka's head…he doubts Ivan will be forgiving. Not that he needs Ivan's forgiveness for anything for any reason.

"What are you calling me now?" Alfred grumbles.

" _Myshka_?" Ivan's smile widens. "It means 'little mouse'."

"Zero points for creativity."

They fall into silence. Lapushka returns to loving on his master, something that said master reciprocates with little giggles and whispers in Russian.

Then the whispers and giggles stop altogether, and Ivan suddenly asks, "Do you realize how much of a hypocrite you are?"

"Hypocrite?" Alfred continues frying the chicken. "For what? Being honest?"

When Alfred looks up from the skillet, Ivan has his head on his arm, watching Lapushka as the feline leans into the hand rubbing his head. The American can't see Ivan's expression very well, but he can tell it's not the usual childish grin.

"Earlier, you told me that it was nice to get things off your chest. That you liked to vent to others."

"Yeah, so?"

There's a long silence, filled with only the sizzling and popping of the grease in the frying pan.

When Ivan finally answers, his voice is soft. Not soft like playful and sweet. Soft like the silence of an abandoned battlefield. Soft like a lost child that has given up on finding his parents, just wandering to his death in the endless snow. It's a sound that Alfred has only ever heard from one other person, and that was France when the Allies reached Paris after D-Day, when he was bruised and broken and looked like he'd been through things only seen in nightmares.

If there was ever a voice that could break Alfred's heart, he's hearing it now, from the last person he would ever expect it from.

"When I told you that I did not understand, you acted like it was the most ridiculous thing you had heard in a long time." Ivan's thumb trails up Lapushka's muzzle a few times. "But why would I vent to someone who can understand what I say and judge me for it?" His voice is barely above a whisper, and Alfred has to strain to hear his words over the frying chicken. "I do not understand why you believe that is so irrational. That is why you are a hypocrite."

There's another long silence. In that time, Alfred finishes with the chicken and macaroni, pulls the cornbread out of the oven, and mashes the potatoes. While he adds the last ingredients to the potatoes and stirs it, Ivan sets the table with three plates. Lapushka sits on the table next to his plate, waiting silently as Ivan pours milk into a saucer for him.

"What would you like to drink?" Ivan asks in his normal voice. As if nothing happened. Like there isn't this silence that's been suffocating Alfred for the past twenty minutes. "I have Coca-Cola, but if you would prefer alcohol, I have vodka and beer." He pauses. "I might have wine as well. I can check if you would like."

Alfred turns off the stove and sets the potatoes aside. "Seriously?"

Ivan frowns. "What is it?"

"You were all depressed and sad, and now you're just happy-go-lucky, giggling and smiling like usual. So I'll say it again. Seriously?!"

"I was neither depressed nor sad." Ivan tilts his head slightly in that confused, Americans-are-from-another-planet way. It makes Alfred want to reach up and place Ivan's head correctly on his shoulders. "I apologize if I gave you that impression. I am fine."

Alfred huffs in exasperation and takes the potatoes to the table. "You're not fine! That's not normal for a happy person!"

"I did not say I am happy, just that I am not sad."

"You…that…" After a moment of failing to find words, Alfred points to where Ivan had been sitting during his "You Are a Hypocrite" monologue. "That was pitiful, so don't tell me that you're fine!"

"Please stop yelling. You are making Lapushka nervous."

"Then explain _―_!" Alfred cuts himself off and takes a breath, feeling a lot like Arthur. Or like he's chastising a child. Probably a mixture of both. "Then explain…that. You sounded pretty upset."

Ivan shakes his head. "I was not upset, simply stating my thoughts." When Alfred gives him a "really?" look, he continues, "You like sleeping, _da_?"

Alfred nods slowly. "Yeah, it's part of the whole life thing, you know."

"Precisely, so it would be odd if sleeping is the most joyous event in your life."

"I still don't know what you're getting at."

"It is easy to live on sadness and self-pity. Instead, I became accustomed to the way life runs. I do not dwell on things that make me sad, and when it is something that would depress me, I simply step away from the situation mentally."

Alfred stares at him.

Ivan smiles. "Coca-Cola or alcohol?"

"Coca-Cola." Alfred shakes his head. "Now you're making me want to drink." He plops down at a seat.

"If you want something harder, you can always add some vodka to it," Ivan suggests as he pulls a can of Coke from the fridge and returns to the table, sitting.

Alfred takes the can gratefully. "Thanks, but no thanks. I don't drink."

Ivan raises an eyebrow at him.

"What's that look?"

"Nothing. I am just surprised; that is all."

As they begin to shovel out the food, Alfred says, "Actually, you're the only one that knows, now that I think about it. Other than Mattie and the States, of course."

"Is there a particular reason?" Ivan asks.

Alfred opens his mouth to reply, but then he closes it. Instead, he watches Ivan make Lapushka's plate. He crumbles up some cornbread in his hand and puts it under Lapushka's nose, waiting until the cat licks it up before adding a small piece to the plate. He does the same with the mashed potatoes and macaroni, though Lapushka doesn't seem to like the potatoes. Then Ivan uses a fork to strip the fried chicken off of the bone, which the feline devours quickly.

With that done, Ivan stands and moves to the sink to wash his hands. "I am still listening."

 _Wow, he must absolutely adore that cat_ , Alfred thinks. "I haven't drunk anything alcoholic since the prohibition era in the 1920s. The States all drink and everything, but I haven't been able to."

Ivan sits back down and notes the way Alfred's eyes wander to the vodka for a moment before he starts eating again. "You're an alcoholic."

"I was. A few more years and it'll be a century." Alfred smiles. "I'm thinking about getting a plaque or something."

With a small smile, Ivan sets the bottle in the floor. "I think you should. It is a great achievement."

"Yeah, I guess it is. I came pretty close… _really_ close to breaking it in 2001, but Dixie kept me from it." Alfred smiles sadly.

"That takes courage."

After a moment, Alfred asks, "Yeah, and what about you? Is it true that Russians drink vodka with every meal?"

"Hardly." Ivan shakes his head at the ridiculous notion before he pauses. "I do not believe I can become intoxicated any longer, so I only drink occasionally to relax. It does not do much."

"Is that even possible? I mean, even for countries…you have to get drunk at least _sometimes_ if you drink that much."

Ivan shrugs. "I drank a lot when I was younger. As far I am concerned, it permanently damaged my body so that a human would have to die several times of alcohol poisoning before I could become…what is the word you Americans use…tipsy."

"Why were you drinking that much? How much younger is 'younger'?"

"Child 'younger'."

"When were you a child? I don't know stuff like that."

"I was alive before Prussia was the Teutonic Knights."

Alfred's eyes go wide. "Dude! That makes you ancient!"

" _Nyet_ , that makes you an infant." Ivan smiles at the comment. "And if you believe that I am ancient, what do you consider England and France?"

"An old married couple."

Ivan giggles.

"What?"

"Is nothing."

"Tell me!"

Ivan shakes his head and giggles some more. "Katyusha compared our relations during the Cold War to England and France, only more ridiculous, as she said."

"Katyusha?"

"Ukraine."

"Oh, right. I'm not good with names outside of my friends." Alfred finishes his third piece of chicken and moves on to the pile of macaroni on his plate. "Besides, Arthur would have knocked on France's door and shoved a missile down his throat, so I don't think it's a good comparison."

"That is very true."

Lapushka mews, licking his lips and then licking his empty plate where the chicken had been.

"Would you like more?" Ivan asks, reaching for another piece of chicken, which happens to be the last piece. Then he pauses, looking at Alfred with an almost pleading expression. "Is that alright?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

And once again, Ivan strips the chicken from the bone for Lapushka. As he does this, he says, "It was all very delicious. I think you should cook dinner again while you stay here."

"Sure, no problem. But you're doing the dishes this time."

"I do not mind, though you wanted to watch movies, _da_? What movie do you want to watch? I do not know any Christmas movies."

Alfred starts clearing the table. "Yeah, well, I guess I'll pull up a few good ones and let you pick." He pauses and jolts again, which worries Ivan for a moment before he realizes it's just an epiphany again. "Oh, and we have to wrap presents! And put stuff in the stockings!" He glances at Ivan. "You know how to wrap a present, right?"

" _Da_."

"Good. That would have been a lot of extra trouble otherwise."

Ivan nods as he starts on the dishes while Alfred puts away the leftover food. "We can wrap the presents while the other is showering; I think that would be easiest."

"Yeah, cool."

 **Author Note: Well, I thought I would get to the movie in this chapter, but oh well. Next chapter though for certain! Thank you for all of your reviews and comments; they really mean a lot to me! I think America was a lot more in character this chapter, so I'm hoping that he's not too out of character the rest of the time. What do you guys think? Let me know because I want to hear from you, so please, Please, PLEASE REVIEW!**

 **A hint for next chapter:**

Ivan is silent for a long time, and Alfred wonders if he fell asleep again. However, then a large hand covers the American's own in the dim light, and Ivan looks up at him with wet eyes. It's impossible to miss those gleams in the nearly black violet orbs, especially in this lighting. "You will not tell anyone about this and you will not pressure me to tell you more than I am willing. Do you understand?"

Alfred nods. "I understand."


	4. Dreams

_**Kings**_

 _Chapter 4: Dreams_

" _All the friends that I've had, where are they now? Guess I'm far too intense to be loved. All the things that I hate, I hate about myself. And I need to cleanse my soul._

" _Nobody knows, nobody cares that I die on the inside. Nobody sees the lie that is me 'cause I smile on the outside. Still, nobody knows and nobody cares when I walk on the wrong side. Tell me who. Nobody. Tell me who. Nobody. Tell me who. Nobody but you."_

―" _Nobody" by Amy Studt_

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

"Dude, did you seriously wrap that?!" Alfred looks at the small package under the tree, perfectly wrapped in snowflake wrapping paper.

Ivan nods. " _Da_ , I wrap birthday presents rather often, so I have acquired the skill."

Alfred looks at his present. Its tiny size only made it harder to wrap, held together with more tape than paper, but when he sets it under the tree, Ivan jumps up from the couch and drops to his knees in front of it. "That is for me?"

"Well, yeah, it's not for Lapushka."

"Oh, I should have gotten one for Lapushka as well…."

"He's a cat; he won't mind."

"I hear that cats like wrapping paper. Maybe we should use the left over paper to play with him tomorrow." Ivan picks up the small gift with a huge smile on his face. "Thank you very, very much, Alfred."

His human name somewhat catches him off guard, and he reminds himself that he needs to be doing the same. "You're welcome I guess, but you don't even know if you'll like it or not."

Ivan shakes his head quickly, looking up at Alfred with dazzling eyes. "I know I will love it! It is a gift, so of course I will like it!"

"You're awfully excited for just one Christmas gift," Alfred says as he plugs his laptop into the TV to mirror the screen. Now for Christmas movies….

"Am I? I apologize if that is the case, but I cannot help it," Ivan says, still smiling like a fangirl after a yaoi moment. At that thought, Alfred decides that he spends too much time with Kiku. "It is my first present, so I am very excited!"

Alfred stops, fingers hovering over the keypad. "Your first present?"

"Well, my first from someone other than my sisters, though they usually send gifts through the mail now. Of course, I also receive a bouquet of roses from France on my birthday every year―"

"France?! He's the one that sends those?!"

"Do not tell him that I told you. I think he wants it to be anonymous."

"Why? I mean, part of gift-giving is seeing the person's reaction when they open it! If you're not there, you can't see if they like it or not!"

Ivan sets his present under the tree again and folds his hands in his lap, looking at the confused American. "And tell me, if France gave you a bouquet on your birthday to your face, what would you do?"

"I would thank him and―"

"No, you would not. Be honest."

Alfred is about to retort, but then he looks back at the laptop screen.

After a moment, Ivan says, "You would assume that he wanted something from you. As a country, maybe a loan or an alliance, and as a person, likely sex. Correct me if I am wrong, but I am quite sure that would go through most nations' minds in that situation."

"Yeah, and what about the chocolates?"

Ivan pauses, his eyes trying to see Alfred's reaction. "What chocolates?"

"On my birthday. Every year, I get a dozen roses, apparently from France, and a box of really gourmet chocolates." Alfred laughs slightly. "They're crazy good; I kind of look forward to them every year."

"Maybe…they are from another nation like France."

Alfred shrugs. "Yeah, probably. I wish I knew who it was though. It'd be nice to thank them and give them something back, you know?"

After a moment, Ivan stands and moves to sit in the windowsill, the sky outside dark while snow swirls past the glass panes. "I am certain that the person who sends them is content as long as you like them."

A few minutes later, Alfred says, "Alright, here's some pretty good movies that you can―"

"Chipmunks!"

"Huh?"

Ivan points to _Alvin and the Chipmunks_ and smiles. "Can we watch the chipmunks? They look so cute!"

"Yeah…sure." Alfred thinks that the last time he watched this movie was during Alaska's birthday party several years ago. Now that he thinks about it, Alaska is a lot like Ivan, though that might be because she was formerly part of Russia.

"Thank you, Alfred!"

There's a list of things that Alfred thinks he'll never see. Ivan genuinely laughing at singing chipmunks while petting a cat he adores…it never even made it on the list. The thought was inconceivable until this moment.

And Ivan's real laugh, not the creepy giggle, isn't all that bad. It doesn't freak Alfred out, and Ivan's face is―dare he think it―cute. The Russian is lying on one side of the corner couch, Lapushka curled up in the crook of one arm, with a pillow under his head, and every time he starts laughing, he brings his free hand up to cover his mouth almost like a paw, the fingers curled up and the back of his hand to his lips. His eyes are bright with mirth, and he makes little comments that absolutely break Alfred, making the American burst out into the laughter he has been trying―and failing―to contain.

Alfred is sitting beside the Russian, his legs propped up on the couch's kickstand and covered with a fuzzy blanket. Lapushka mews quietly and shifts, forcing Ivan to move his arm over a little to make more room for the gigantic cat. Ivan's arm now lies against Alfred's thigh. Neither notices.

Oo_oO_Oo_oO

Alfred slowly blinks open his eyes. Where is he?

Taking a deep breath and stretching slightly, he notes that the TV screen is black and the Christmas tree is the only light in the room. He must have shifted at some point, because he's lying flat on the couch, his blanket wrapped around him still, though his legs are free of it and slightly cold now.

Wait a second. Blankets aren't this heavy.

Rubbing his eyes and adjusting his glasses, Alfred pushes himself up onto his elbows, looking down at the body on his. Ivan's arms are latched around his torso, the ash blonde head on his chest, while Alfred's legs are spread to accommodate the other's body between them.

Alfred opens his mouth to wake the other, but then Ivan's arms squeeze his ribs impossibly tightly and all that leaves his mouth is a―very masculine―squawk, not too far off from being a parrot.

At the noise, Ivan jerks awake. He stretches a little, yawns, and then lays his head back down.

"Ivan, dude, are you trying to kill me?" Alfred mutters as he flops back down on the pillow beneath his shoulders. Why it's there, he doesn't know.

"I apologize. It was a nightmare, I think."

"Oh."

There's a long silence.

"What was it about?" Alfred asks.

"Nothing important. I am used to them."

Alfred fixes the pillow behind his head so that he can look at Ivan without straining his neck. "You don't just get used to nightmares."

"Why not?" Ivan doesn't look up at the other, content to lie where he is.

"You…just don't. It doesn't work like that."

"I have dealt with nightmares for much longer than you, Alfred. The ones in my mind are rather miniscule compared to real life."

"How so?"

"Physical pain does not exist in the mind. One can wake up and know that it is either not real or has already passed. And my mind tends to revolve around what has already come and gone, so it is easy to brush off."

"Like what?"

Ivan is silent for a long time, and Alfred wonders if he fell asleep again. However, then a large hand covers the American's own in the dim light, and Ivan looks up at him with wet eyes. It's impossible to miss those gleams in the nearly black violet orbs, especially in this lighting. "You will not tell anyone about this and you will not pressure me to tell you more than I am willing. Do you understand?"

Alfred nods. "I understand."

Ivan brings Alfred's hand up to his back, lifting his shirt slightly. "You may touch."

His back? Alfred doesn't understand why that's such a big deal. Even if he has some scars, all the nations do―

"Oh my―" Alfred cuts himself off, biting his lip harshly.

Deep. The cuts that litter Ivan's back are deep. There's smooth skin that's slightly raised, like burns, but they have designs. Brands. And then there are shallow holes from bullets, but they're all connected by more cuts, like some sort of sick connect-the-dots game.

Ivan stays silent through this, though Alfred can feel the shivers that course down his spine with every new touch and one of his hands is fisted in Alfred's t-shirt.

"Who did this to you?" Alfred whispers before he curses.

Though his body is still tense, Ivan is slowly relaxing against the other. "Most are from the Mongolian Empire."

"Most," Alfred repeats. "Then what about the rest?"

When Ivan speaks, his voice is soft again. Heartbreakingly soft. "He never existed." Ivan reaches behind himself and moves Alfred's hand to his lower back, slightly to the left. "I branded myself with a hammer and sickle."

" _Because I am not the Soviet Union. I was simply his representative."_

" _How did no one know that then? Doesn't sound like a solid excuse to me."_

Alfred traces the jagged cuts around the outside of the burn. "Ivan, I―"

"It is alright." Ivan moves to brush off Alfred's hand, but then he stops. After a moment, he shifts to get more comfortable and lies down again, still on top of Alfred. "May we stay like this until morning?"

"Yeah." Alfred fixes Ivan's shirt. "But my legs are kind of cold. Where'd you put the blanket?"

Ivan blindly reaches for the floor, pulling up the blanket and halfheartedly tossing it over their legs.

"Wow, what a help you are," Alfred mutters as he tries to arrange the blanket the best that he can with the Russian on top of him.

"Hm…shut up and go to sleep," Ivan mumbles.

Alfred rearranges his pillow before he settles, letting his fingers trail up and down Ivan's covered back. When he gets no reaction, positive or negative, he stops, but Ivan lets out a soft noise that can only be called a whimper. So he continues.

"This is more than a little gay," Alfred says after a few minutes.

"If it does not bother you, I would prefer we go without labels," Ivan murmurs.

There's a pause.

Alfred asks, "Does being gay bother you?"

" _Nyet_ , I do not prefer one sex or gender over the other. My people are not as understanding of such things, but that was not my point. Just that our relationship has never been simple, and I do not believe that it will change."

"Our relationship won't change," Alfred repeats quietly.

" _Nyet_!" Ivan bursts, which makes Alfred jump. " _Nyet, nyet, nyet_ , you misunderstand what I say." The Russian's arms go around him quickly, holding him there. "The simplicity of―or lack thereof―our relationship will not change."

"Sounds an awful lot like a proposition to me, Ivan."

With a small smile, Ivan looks up at him. "That is not my problem, _myshka_."

"Course not."

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

When Alfred wakes up this time, his lower body feels much lighter. Yawning, he rolls over on his side and rubs his eyes.

"Your sleeping habits are ridiculous. It is nearly nine o'clock."

"Dude, that's a record for me without a deadline," Alfred mumbles. "What time are you usually up?"

Ivan closes his book and sets it aside. With a smile, he glances down at the slowly waking American beside him and runs his fingers through the sunshine blonde hair. "Six or seven, depending on the season. I prefer to wake with the sun."

"No wonder, considering that you have that huge skylight over your bed," Alfred says through another yawn.

"I like the sun."

"And sunflowers apparently."

" _Da_ , sunflowers are my favorite flower."

The word triggers Alfred's memory, and he bolts straight up. "It's Christmas!"

Ivan raises an eyebrow. " _Da_."

"Presents! Come on, let's open them!"

As soon as Alfred sits down, there's a knock on the door. "Seriously?"

"Patience, Alfred." Ivan knows what it is and wonders if he can get it through the living room without Alfred noticing. Probably not.

While he waits, Alfred picks up his gift and shakes it carefully. It's very light and nothing moves when he does so. When he hears footsteps, Alfred asks, "Who was it?"

"Just a mail delivery."

"Huh?" Alfred glances up. "The mail doesn't run on Christ―"

Roses. A bouquet of roses in red, yellow, white, and pink. Ivan looks away and moves towards the kitchen. "I'm going to put these in a vase."

Alfred follows him, presents momentarily forgotten. "When is Christmas celebrated in Russia? Is it celebrated at all?"

" _Da_ , we celebrate on January seventh."

While Ivan fills a vase with water, Alfred asks, "Were you going to tell me?"

"Why would I? I personally do not celebrate Christmas, but it is your favorite holiday, if I remember correctly. And even if you cannot be with your family―"

"No, not that. Your birthday." Alfred crosses his arms over his chest. "Those are the roses that I get every year, which means today is your birthday."

Ivan frowns. "Why would I tell you? It is not important."

"Not important? Dude, it's your birthday! Birthdays are important! I mean, I throw parties for my birthday and invite everyone to come―"

"And _you_ can do that and many nations will come. You have the States and Canada's provinces. I do not."

Alfred's smile fades. "S-sure you do. I mean, you could invite your sisters―"

"Their bosses will not let them come."

"―the Baltics―"

"They are terrified of me."

"―the Allies―"

"Christmas or they do not wish to come."

Alfred looks over at the flowers in the vase, at Ivan's clenched hands on the countertop. "Ivan…there has to be _somebody_ …."

"Lapushka," Ivan murmurs. "And before him, Kotyonok." After a long moment, he continues, "I had this house built in 1992, and you are the first guest to set foot in it." He glances at the flowers. "And even if I did throw a party and every nation came, none of them would want to be there."

"I would."

"Now maybe. Because you feel sorry for me, but three days ago?"

"Three days ago, no, I wouldn't, but now, I would want to be there to make sure you have the best birthday ever. Not because I feel sorry for you, but because you deserve it. And…you're not half bad company."

Alfred doesn't have time to be embarrassed over the words, because a moment later, his lungs are being squeezed out of him as Ivan hugs him and lifts him from the ground.

"Too tight!" Alfred coughs.

"Oh, I apologize, _myshka_ ," Ivan says as he sets the other down.

Alfred beams up at him. "Okay, new plan! Today, Ivan Braginsky is going to have the best birthday ever! Time for presents!"

Ivan lets the American pull him into the living room again and sits beside him.

"Open yours first," Ivan says, motioning to other's present.

"Are you sure?" Alfred asks.

" _Da_ , I want to know if you like it or not."

Alfred shrugs and tears open the wrapping paper. Inside is a phone case. The picture is of a bald eagle perched in a pine tree.

"Your phone is a 6S, _da_? It is not shatterproof, so I was not sure if you would―"

"Like it? Dude, this is the coolest phone case ever!" As if to prove it, Alfred digs his phone out of his pocket and starts switching the cases. "I was so tired of just blue."

Ivan smiles. "I am very glad."

A moment later, Alfred finishes and sets his phone down. "Okay, your turn."

With an excited smile, Ivan picks up his present and unwraps it while Alfred measures his reaction. Inside the paper is a jewelry box, and Ivan opens it. He stops, his smile fading.

"Do you not like it?" Alfred asks. He really thought Ivan would be overjoyed. "I know you don't wear jewelry, and I don't really understand buying people that kind of stuff in the first place, especially other guys, but―"

"Alfred."

The American stops as tears well in Ivan's eyes. "Uh…are those happy tears or sad tears? I didn't mean to upset you―"

"It's perfect," Ivan murmurs, taking the item out of the case. It's a sunflower charm on a necklace chain, nothing fancy. The charm itself is barely the size of Ivan's thumb, but the yellow petals sparkle. Ivan slips it over his head and tucks it into his scarf. Then he leans over and wraps his arms around Alfred, burying his face in the other's shoulder. "Thank you."

Alfred awkwardly returns the hug, though he doesn't know if he's still allowed to touch Ivan's back. "You're welcome. I mean, it's nothing to get all excited over―"

"Let me decide that for myself, Alfred. This is the most thoughtful gift I have ever been given, and I will treasure it forever."

Unsure of what else to say, Alfred rests his chin on Ivan's shoulder. "I'm glad you like it then."

 **A** **uthor Note: Development! I know, sunflower jewelry and scars are really overused on Russia, but I find it rather realistic. If you liked it, please, Please, PLEASE REVIEW!**

 **And yes, Russia's birthday in Hetalia is the thirty-first of December (the unification of the USSR), but that obviously didn't seem right to me in the context of this story. Russia's Independence Day is celebrated in June, but December twenty-fifth is when the Russian Federation was formed, so that seemed like the best day for a birthday.**

 **A hint for next chapter:**

"Well, uh…" Alfred peeks up the stairs, certain that the door to the bathroom is still closed before he walks to the greenhouse. "Promise not to laugh at me?"

There's a pause on the other line. _"Yes, I promise. What's bothering you?"_


	5. Attractive

_**Kings**_

 _Chapter 5: Attractive_

" _I stare at the girl in the mirror. T-shirt, torn-up jeans; no beauty queen. But the way that you see me, you get underneath me, and all my defenses just fall away, fall away._

" _I am beautiful with you, even in the darkest part of me. I am beautiful with you; make me feel the way it's supposed to be. You're here with me. You show me this and I believe I am beautiful with you."_

―" _Beautiful with You" by Halestorm_

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

After breakfast, Alfred asks, "Is there anything you usually do on your birthday?"

Ivan glances down at Lapushka, who is purring in his arms. " _Da_ , Lapushka and I turn on the sprinkler in the greenhouse and play."

Alfred has a difficult time trying to imagine that. "We can do that! It can be a tradition!" He pauses. "Oh, I don't have a swimsuit though. I should have some athletic shorts…."

"We…do not have to."

"Do you like it?"

" _Da_ …but―"

"Then we should."

However, after searching for athletic shorts in his suitcase for easily ten minutes and then changing, he thinks that Ivan has had plenty of time to put on swim trunks.

Knocking on the Russian's door, Alfred calls, "Dude, you alive?"

" _D-da_ , I am fine."

"Are you naked?"

"What? _Nyet_ , I am dressed."

With that, Alfred turns the knob to find it unlocked and opens the door.

"I did not give you permission to come in!" Ivan says, his hands shooting up to his neck.

Alfred closes the door behind him, though he's not sure why. It's not like there's anyone else in the house. "If I had asked, you wouldn't have let me."

"That is true, but have you not heard of privacy?" Ivan hasn't moved his hands, desperately trying to cover his neck. His chest is bare, but riddled with scars, much like the kind on his back. Burns, deep cuts, and bullet holes. It's almost worse to see them rather than feel them.

Alfred walks forward, and Ivan begins to take steps backwards. This continues until Ivan hits his dresser.

"I promised not to pressure you to talk about your scars, and I never break my promises." Alfred stares into violet eyes, and the fear is well-hidden but still visible. "We can have fun, and you don't have to worry about it. I won't judge you."

When Alfred reaches up and takes Ivan's hands in his own, the Russian doesn't fight, letting his hands fall way.

It's unmistakable. Alfred has seen enough of them to know that the scar around Ivan's neck is from a slave collar. But among the scars and pale skin, a little sunflower hangs from Ivan's neck, and it's enough to lighten the mood slightly.

"Can I touch it?" Alfred asks quietly.

After a moment, Ivan nods, and his hands tense in Alfred's. Slowly, to be certain that Ivan is alright with it, Alfred leans in and plants a kiss on the scar.

Ivan looks away. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I'm sure that's the gentlest you've been touched there." With a smile, Alfred drops one of Ivan's hands and tightens his grip on the other, pulling him towards the door. "Come on! Are we going to the greenhouse or not?"

Ivan follows closely behind him. " _Da_!"

However, as soon as Alfred gets the water hose, all hope is lost for using the sprinkler. No, he's having too much fun soaking Ivan.

"Alfred, you are very mean!" Ivan exclaims as he tries to shield his face from the water.

"You want to see mean?" Alfred moves his thumb over the end of the hose so that the water is under pressure and has a larger range. "Is that mean enough for you?"

"Alfred!"

But they're both laughing, and Alfred eventually goes back to the normal water pressure and slinging it at the other.

"Tomorrow, we should totally get water balloons!" Alfred says.

Using the moment of distraction, Ivan snatches the hose away from Alfred and begins his counterattack. " _Da_ , that sounds interesting."

Alfred laughs and starts trying to get the hose back. "I'm taking you down, Russia!"

"In your dreams, America!"

Though, as it turns out, those dreams come true in that instant as Alfred trips over the water hose in his efforts to steal it. The hose flies away into the sunflowers while Alfred falls against Ivan, knocking them both down. Luckily, Alfred catches himself before he flattens the other.

"Well…I took you down," Alfred laughs. A moment later, the breath is knocked out of him as he finds himself on his back, Ivan grinning down at him.

"What was that, _myshka_?"

Alfred pushes up against him, flipping them again, but then they just keep rolling through the mud until they hit a bag of potting soil. With Alfred under Ivan.

"And now I am dizzy."

"Yeah, well, everything's blurry to me already," Alfred says. "My face feels naked without Texas."

"Looks naked, too. Though, now that I think about it, we are both half-naked," Ivan says.

"And covered in mud," Alfred mutters.

Laughing, Ivan stands and offers a hand to Alfred. "Let us wash off, _da_?"

"Yeah, _da_."

Ivan just laughs harder, and Alfred smacks him on the shoulder.

Oo_oO_Oo_oO

"Come on, pick up. It's nearly noon in London…."

When Alfred hears the phone pick up, he waits for a British accent yelling at him.

" _Kirkland residence._ Angleterre _has not had any tea yet, so I would make it quick."_

"France?" Alfred chokes.

"Amérique _? I thought you were buried in snow."_

"That's up for discussion." Then Alfred shakes his head quickly. "That's not the point! Why are you picking up Arthur's phone?!"

" _Francis, who is it?"_ says a sleepy but noticeably British voice.

"ARTIE!"

" _Hang up the bloody phone."_

"Don't you dare!"

" _Please, children. What do you need,_ Amérique?"

"Oh, I was wondering―wait, you never answered my question! Why are you picking up Arthur's phone, France?! If you did anything to Artie―!"

" _Oh, for the love of―Alfred, calm down!"_

Alfred huffs. "Okay, yeah, I'm calm. Now explain."

" _Have I any need to explain? Seriously? Are you still just a colony, needing the sex talk?"_

"France, I swear I'm going to―"

" _Consensual sex,_ Amérique _; do not overreact."_

" _Yes, and I'm very tired and plan to stay in bed all day, so get on with whatever ridiculous thing you wanted to discuss. Quickly, or I will hang up the phone."_

"Well, uh…" Alfred peeks up the stairs, certain that the door to the bathroom is still closed before he walks to the greenhouse. "Promise not to laugh at me?"

There's a pause on the other line. _"Yes, I promise. What's bothering you?"_

" _I will go make some tea,_ mon ange."

"No, could…could you listen, too?"

"Oui _, if you would like."_

Alfred glances at the sunflowers, brushing his fingertips along the soft petals. "How…I mean, uh…what do you do if…someone you hate is…if he's not that bad? Or…I don't know. Does that make sense?"

" _I'm in bed with Francis and I know that he's an idiotic frog. Does that help?"_

"No, not really."

"Amérique _, you are a country of labels and advertising what is great and undermining what is not. That is not to say that you are the only one, but it would do you some good to take away the packaging and judge the goods."_

" _Did you just tell my little brother to sleep with Russia?"_

"Non _, though that may be a result."_

" _Ignore the frog, Alfred."_

"No, I totally get it! Preconceptions and stuff. I have to start over with Ivan and be open with him, and then I can decide from there. Thanks, France."

" _Of course._ De rien _."_

" _I didn't know that you knew what 'preconception' means."_

"I grew up on the proper Queen's English, dude. I can still speak it, but it's crazy boring and makes me feel old."

" _What a pity. He chooses to butcher such a language."_

"Whatever. Oh, and France…well, Ivan asked me not to tell you, but thanks for the flowers."

There's a long silence on the other end of the line.

" _You are very welcome. I am glad that you liked them. Though I must say that I am surprised that Ivan told you; he wanted to be secretive about it."_

"He did?"

"Oui _, very much so. He makes the chocolate himself, you know. I made the recipe of course, but he said he wanted to do something for others' birthdays as well."_

"I guess that makes sense. Anyways, Merry Christmas. Uh, and…congratulations, I guess?"

" _Don't inflate the frog's ego. It's far too large in comparison to his intelligence as it is."_

" _But microscopic in comparison to my love for you,_ mon petit ange."

" _No, that sounds as if I'm your daughter or something equally grotesque."_

" _Then_ mon chaton _?"_

" _Go to H―"_

"Alright, see you, bye!" Alfred hangs up before he overhears murder or sex. At this point, either is equally likely.

For a long moment, Alfred stares at the sunflowers.

" _Maybe…they are from another nation like France."_

"Another nation like France, huh?" Alfred touches the petals again. "A lot of preconceptions and misunderstandings…."

Oo_oO_Oo_oO

After dinner, Alfred and Ivan decide to play some card games and settle on Sevens. Halfway into the second round, Alfred's phone goes off playing "Canadian Please". Ivan chuckles and shakes his head at the ringtone.

Setting the phone on speaker, Alfred says, "Hey, Mattie. You got Alfred and Ivan."

" _MERRY CHRISTMAS, DAD!"_

" _MERRY CHRISTMAS, UNCLE AL!"_

" _Merry Christmas, Al, Russia_ ," says Matthew. _"Oh, Quince wants to say something."_

"Joyeux Noël, Petit Mathieu _!"_

Alfred laughs. "Merry Christmas!"

" _Da_ , merry Christmas," Ivan says.

"S-Schastlivogo…R-R-Roz-Rozhdestva _!"_ follows after in a small voice.

Ivan's face lights up, and he smiles. " _Da, Schastlivogo Rozhdestva_!"

There's a giggle on the other line. _"I-I said it right?"_

"You said it much better than Alfred could."

"Hey!" Alfred flings a card at the other, though it swerves away and ends up becoming Lapushka's new toy.

"Are you Alaska?" Ivan asks, ignoring the other.

" _Y-you know who I am?"_

" _Da_ , not personally of course, but I remember when your land was still part of my country."

There's silence for a moment before there's another, much louder voice. _"Dad, Russia broke Alana!"_

" _Kasey, that's rude!"_

" _Yeah? What are you going to do about it, lobster breath?"_

" _I beg your pardon!"_

"Kasey, Madeline, cool it!" Alfred says. Ivan almost wants to apologize for them; Alfred's voice leaves no room for argument.

" _I apologize, Father."_

" _Whatever, Madeline started―ow! What was that for, Nick?!"_

" _Hey, Dad, can I dropkick Kasey off the roof?"_

" _You try it, thirty-seven! I'm older than you!"_

" _And I'm on top of you. What are you going to do about it?"_

" _STOP IT!"_ yells a feminine voice.

"Thank you, Dix," Alfred says.

A few minutes later, Ivan says, "I understand what you mean about them not getting along."

"Well, Kasey doesn't really count. He doesn't get along with much of anybody really."

"I am still waiting for the translations."

"Oh, right. Kasey is Kansas, Madeline is Maine, Nick is Nebraska, and then obviously Alana is Alaska." Alfred picks up his playing cards again, moving them around in between his hands. "During the Civil War, Kasey was part of the Union, but was pretty torn. Several battles took place in Kansas." Alfred smiles then. "But off the sad stuff. Alana has a huge crush on you, if you didn't know."

Ivan looks taken aback. "Oh, that is…um…" He quickly shakes his head. "I would never look at her in that way. She sounded so young and―"

"No, dude, I get what you're saying; it's cool. I didn't mean romantic crush, but like a celebrity crush, you know? She calls you papa, actually."

"Oh, I am glad then. Though that is slightly…odd, since I have never met her."

Alfred shrugs. "Who knows? And by the way, she's really not that young. She's the biggest state, taller than me actually. She's a lot like you. And she's crazy shy."

"She seems very nice. I would like to meet her sometime, if that is alright."

"Sure, you can visit whenever. Maybe you can come spend a week at my house for my birthday, but I doubt you'll last that long."

"Challenge accepted." Ivan smiles. "But Lapushka must be welcome as well."

"Yeah, of course. At this point, that cat's practically part of you."

Ivan smiles. "Then I would love to come."

After they called a draw on the card game, Ivan insists that he wants to finish the night with another movie and picks _Ice Age_.

"You know, we never did anything with the stockings," Alfred says as he finishes setting up his laptop.

"We can make it up tomorrow if you would like. Would you like to go to the arcade when we get the water balloons?"

"Dude, we're seriously doing that? Awesome! Yeah, let's do it!" As the movie starts, Alfred sits between Ivan's legs, back to chest. "Are the games all going to be in Russian?"

"Yes, but I do not believe it will matter with most of them."

"Hm, okay."

Somewhere within the first twenty minutes of the movie, Ivan's hands move from loosely holding Alfred's hands to rubbing the American's stomach. And it feels nice and soothing to a certain degree, Alfred thinks it's kind of weird.

"Why are you rubbing my belly?"

Ivan's hand stops moving. "I apologize. I did not realize that it makes you uncomfortable―"

"Not…uncomfortable, but…why?"

"You are a little bit chubby. Is very cute."

Alfred's cheeks flare. "I'm not cute."

" _Nyet_ , very cute." Ivan rubs the American's stomach again. "I do not understand why you Americans are so self-conscious of your weight."

"Yeah, well, why don't you care? I mean…" Alfred pushes the hand away, yanking his shirt down. "I'm a man, so I should be more muscular and less fat."

"You are strong and very attractive, Alfred. Why do you want to change your body?"

"Not attractive," Alfred mutters under his breath.

Suddenly, Alfred is being forcefully turned, his legs on either side of Ivan's hips. Violet eyes stare into his. "England. Do you find him attractive?"

"Well…I mean, yeah, everyone does."

"And Germany?"

Alfred shrugs. "I guess, but not that much."

"And yet, England is barely more than skin and bones while Germany is very muscular."

Alfred opens his mouth to retort, but then he closes it again. After a moment, he looks away and grumbles, "You tricked me."

" _Nyet_ , I simply gave you a new perspective."

"They're not fat though."

"And neither are you." Ivan puts a hand over Alfred's mouth and continues, "'Fat' is a relative term that is solely reliant on the speaker."

Alfred pulls the hand away. "So is 'attractive'."

After a short staring contest, Ivan sighs. "Then respect what I find attractive. I think that you are beautiful, cute, and attractive in every sense of the words." He leans forward, slips an arm around Alfred's waist, and puts his lips to the American's ear. "And with the way you are looking at me right now, equal parts embarrassed and angry, you are tempting me to add 'sexy' to that list as well." He feels the shiver that tickles Alfred's spine. "No more arguing, _da_?"

When Ivan pulls away, Alfred's face is as red as the lights on the Christmas tree. "You cheated."

"How so, _myshka_?"

Alfred doesn't answer and instead turns around again. "I'm not rewinding the movie and you just missed a pretty important part."

"I do not mind. You are much more important than the movie."

The noise that leaves Alfred is something between a needy whimper and a frustrated growl. With a giggle, Ivan pulls the other to his chest again and leaves a kiss on a glowing red ear.

"And I started to think that you aren't evil. That was a mistake," Alfred mutters as he leans his head back on the Russian's shoulder.

"You are very adept at denial, _myshka_."

Alfred chuckles while arms wrap around him. "I don't think so. Not today at least."

"I can see that," Ivan murmurs.

 **Author Note: And England and France make an appearance, along with the States! And do you guys like this approach to the relationship? I think other fanfictions feature America in denial, Russia chasing, and a big climax where it comes crashing down. But hey, I'm the first to say that I can't write a climax for the life of me, so I hope you guys aren't waiting for a big blowout. I can tell you now that it's probably not going to happen. Regardless, please, Please, PLEASE REVIEW!**

 **Translations:**

" **De rien** **" – "You're welcome"**

" **Mon petit ange** **" – "My little angel"**

" **Mon chaton** **" – "My kitten"**

 **A hint for next chapter:**

"Have you ever heard the saying not to poke a sleeping bear, lest you be eaten?"

" _My bear did much more than eat me. I have the rope burns to prove it, but it was oh so divine."_


	6. Hero

**Thank you to everyone who has commented on, left kudos on, favorited, and followed this story! I'm so excited that so many people like it!**

 _ **Kings**_

 _Chapter 6: Hero_

" _She's watching the taxi driver. He pulls away. She's been locked up inside her apartment a hundred days. She says, 'Yeah, he's still coming just a little bit late. He got stuck at the Laundromat, washing his cape.' She's just watching the clouds roll by and they spell her name, like Louis Lane. And she smiles. Oh, the way she smiles._

" _She's talking to angels, counting the stars, making a wish on a passing car. She's dancing with strangers, falling apart. Waiting for Superman to pick her up in his arms."_

―" _Waiting for Superman" by Daughtry_

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

Alfred prods Ivan as he finishes turning off the lights, all except for the upstairs ceiling fan. "Dude, sleeping on the couch two nights in a row can't be good."

Ivan blinks his eyes open before he yawns and stretches a bit. " _Da_ , I am coming."

Once they climb the stairs, Alfred pauses at the guest bedroom, not really wanting to part from Ivan but not sure if he's welcome.

Ivan doesn't even look at Alfred as he flips on the bedroom light. "Go ahead and change clothes if you would like. Close the door when you come in."

Well, that answers that question.

Alfred changes into sweatpants and a t-shirt, but he also takes a sweatshirt with him, remembering just how cool the room is. When he closes the door, Ivan is in blue athletic shorts and shirtless. His scarf is folded on the dresser, and he lays the sunflower necklace over it as he asks, "Do you mind if I sleep without a shirt? The house is much warmer than what I am accustomed to."

Alfred shakes his head. "I don't care. It's your bed, dude." He pauses on the staircase. "If it's too hot, you can lower the temperature, you know. I can just bundle up a bit more."

"I would rather I be hot than you be cold," Ivan replies as he follows the American.

"I'm a big boy; I can handle it."

"I know that you can, but that is not my point."

"Yeah, yeah, I still don't get half your points or whatever."

Ivan chuckles as he lies down beside Alfred and turns out the lamp, taking Alfred's glasses and setting then on the nightstand as well. A moment later, an arm slips under his pillow and another over his waist, a warm chest pressed to his back. Alfred presses a small kiss to his base of the Russian's ear. "This is weird, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"Three days ago, I thought you had some sort of plot going on to have me killed by the Russian mafia on the way to your house _―_ "

" _What_?"

"―and now we're…whatever we're doing."

"I believe 'cuddling' is the correct term."

"And you don't think that's weird?"

" _Myshka_ , we have already discussed this. We cannot define our relationship." Ivan looks over his shoulder at the other, amethyst meeting sapphire. "If you would rather we not attempt this kind of relationship―"

"No, that's not what I mean."

Ivan rolls over. "I am listening."

"Does this make us a couple? How does that work? Does that mean Russia and America have an alliance now?"

Ivan pauses. "Do you know how long France and England have been together?"

"No. I mean, I thought it was pretty recent."

" _Nyet_ , they have been in and out of each other's beds since before you were discovered. They never add this to the history books, but England was jealous of Joan of Arc's relationship with France; that is part of the reason she was killed."

"Seriously?"

" _Da_. So to answer your question, that does not mean that our countries are in alliance. We are just as much our own people."

"Even so, what about your boss? You said that your people weren't as accepting of same-sex relationships."

Ivan shrugs. "He will be furious undoubtedly, but he cannot control me any more than your boss can control you."

After a long moment, Alfred mumbles, "Still kind of weird."

"I suppose it is. But I do not mind."

"Yeah."

There's another pause. Then Alfred pushes himself onto his elbow and leans over the other, looking down into violet eyes. It's almost like silent communication, asking permission and deciding what is considered moving too fast, but then Ivan tangles a hand in Alfred's hair and guides him down.

It's odd. After the ways they danced around each other during the Cold War with such malicious intentions, they both thought that their kiss would reflect that malice. Instead, the kiss itself is gentle, slow, and a little sloppy from inexperience of both parts. Inexperience of the passion between them. It's almost tangible as their lips part to deepen the kiss, their tongues sliding together. At first, there's curiosity, and they test and poke at each other, but then it's a dominance battle. Or at least it would be if Ivan would stop evading Alfred's explorations while breathlessly giggling. It really is the Cold War again.

When they break apart, Ivan smiles and closes his eyes, looking almost drunk if Alfred didn't know better.

"Can't even kiss without running away," Alfred whispers against the other's lips.

"Mh, but look who continues to chase me," Ivan replies.

Alfred smirks. "That makes me the cat then, _myshka_. I caught you."

When Ivan leans forward, Alfred is expecting another kiss, but instead, Ivan gives him a light nip on his lower lip. "You wish, _tigr_."

Alfred leaves a quick kiss on Ivan's cheek before he flops back down on the bed. "I'll catch you tomorrow."

"I will look forward to it."

Oo_oO_Oo_oO

Alfred groans as he feels a tongue on his cheek, licking furiously. Without opening his eyes, he buries his face into his cold, firm pillow and tries to push away his assailant. However, his hand meets something very fuzzy before his fingers are victim to that merciless tongue again.

"Ivan, I'm…mh, not into that," Alfred grumbles, wiping his hand on the blankets. "Need to shave, dude."

"You are not very intelligent in the mornings, are you, _myshka_?" Ivan closes his book and glances at the blonde head nuzzling his shoulder.

"You're the one licking people…."

" _Nyet_ , I believe Lapushka wants breakfast and does not understand why we are still in bed."

"Feed him then." Alfred yawns and rolls over, still nestled in the crook of Ivan's arm, though he's unaware of that fact. "What time is it?"

"It is nearly eight o'clock."

"Then come back afterwards. I still have…like, a day left."

Ivan rolls his eyes and begins to wiggle out of bed, though Alfred complains about the loss of his pillow.

The next time Alfred wakes up, he's much more coherent as he releases Ivan from his grip and stretches. "Hm…good morning…."

" _Myshka_ , it is past ten o'clock. That almost constitutes afternoon."

"Does not. Morning goes until one."

"You are hopeless," Ivan murmurs as he rolls onto his back, letting the American cuddle up against him again.

Alfred yawns and lays his head on Ivan's shoulder. "Whatever."

"Does waking up this late not bother you? So much of the day has already passed."

"I've just never been a morning person." After a long moment, he continues, "It…um, it got worse. After…after nine-eleven."

Ivan doesn't say anything, but he rubs circles into Alfred's hip and lower back, the arm around the other tightening slightly.

"It was like being shot, you know? I was in a meeting at the time with all the Northeastern and Southern States, and then I felt it. It was like someone stabbed me in the chest and then started moving the knife around. And then Nathan just collapsed, out cold. That's what happens with those kinds of things; the State passes out. Vivian and Parker passed out not long after. Oh, Virginia and Pennsylvania." Alfred pauses. Then he exhales and slides an arm over Ivan's torso, as if to keep him from running away. "And it was just like the Civil War again; I couldn't move, couldn't fight. Why is that? Civil wars and terrorist attacks render us useless? Whose idea was that?" He takes a few more deep breaths through his nose. "I know that all the other countries think it's ridiculous, but I want to be a hero. Not for the glory or the adrenaline rush or the power, but…because I want to help people. They don't even have to know it was me or thank me, just as long as they're safe."

"It is not ridiculous," Ivan murmurs.

Alfred laughs dryly. "Yeah, it is. I can't do anything. What's the point of wanting to be a hero for other people if I can't protect my own country? Nine-eleven, Columbine, Sandy Hook, Boston Marathon…there's so many more, and I couldn't do anything. Some hero."

"We all know that feeling, Alfred. Every country has felt that way at some point," Ivan says quietly, running a hand through Alfred's hair. Once the bangs are out of the way, Ivan can see the wet gleams in cerulean eyes. "Sometimes…we cannot do it all ourselves. Even if we are supposed to be big and strong all the time, sometimes…we need heroes, too. And that is okay."

"When have you needed a hero?" Alfred murmurs.

"Too many times to count, _myshka_." Ivan smiles sadly.

After a long moment of silence, Alfred pushes himself up onto his elbow and wipes at wetness in his eyes before he looks at Ivan. "Be my Louis Lane?"

Ivan frowns. "Who is Louis Lane?"

Well, that didn't work. Alfred tries, "She's always trying to find out who Superman really is."

"Then, no, I do not wish to be Louis Lane." When Alfred's face falls, Ivan smiles and kisses his cheek. "I already know who he is. And he is already my hero."

"Okay, that was kind of sweet," Alfred says, laughing. "Kind of cheesy though."

" _Myshka_ , you can be my hero. Right now, I may not need one, but I do not mind having one, and I do not care if it sounds cheesy because it is true and is making your face turn red."

Alfred looks away. "Shut up!"

"Why? You are cute when you blush."

"Men don't blush!"

Ivan laughs while Alfred smacks his arm a few times. Somewhere along the way, Ivan ends up on top of the American with their lips together.

With a smirk, Alfred rolls them over, breaking the kiss to whisper, "I caught you again, _myshka_."

While Alfred presses little kisses down Ivan's neck, the Russian breathes, "I absolutely forbid you from learning Russian."

"Why?"

Ivan curls his fingers in blonde hair as teeth nip at his collarbone. "Because you are making me melt, speaking in that way."

"That's kind of the point," Alfred whispers. His hands wander towards Ivan's hips, his thumbs catching the waistband playfully.

"W-wait."

Alfred pulls back. "Am I going too fast?"

"T-that is…not your fault. I…" Ivan sits up and scoots backwards, drawing his knees up to his chest. "I do not believe that I can go beyond kissing."

Sitting down with his legs crossed, Alfred asks, "I don't want to pressure you or anything, but 'can't' is different from 'won't'."

" _N-nyet_ , I…I cannot," Ivan says. And again, his voice is soft. His eyes are fixed on the very messy blankets, but Alfred can see a tear slip down his cheek, rolling off his chin and landing on an X-shaped scar on his collarbone.

"Okay, that's fine! I'm sorry!" Alfred rushes out, wanting to move closer but not sure if it would be welcome. "Don't cry. Please, I'm sorry."

Ivan shakes his head quickly and waves his hands in front of himself. "There is no need to apologize. I am fine."

"We're not doing the whole thing about you being fine again," Alfred says.

"You simply refuse to believe that it is true."

"Because it's not!"

They stare at each other for a long moment before Ivan looks away, his teeth digging into his lip. "I made breakfast for you downstairs. It is likely cold now, but―"

"Don't." Alfred moves forward on his knees and brings a hand up through Ivan's ashy hair. "I won't ask you to tell me what's upsetting you, but don't act like it's nothing."

"You are the one that insists that it be something," Ivan says softly without looking at the other. When Alfred doesn't say anything or move away, he murmurs, "You are the only one who believes that I am not a monster. I do not want to prove you wrong."

Alfred leans in and kisses Ivan's cheek. "Then we can leave it at that for now. What's for breakfast?"

"Eggs and toast," Ivan says as he follows Alfred off the bed.

"You have Nutella?"

Ivan shakes his head. "What is Nutella?"

"You know, the store clerk is going to give us a weird look."

"Why is that?" Alfred changes the topic of conversations randomly, and it really frustrates Ivan sometimes.

"Because it's the end of December and we'll be buying water balloons and Nutella."

But Ivan still doesn't know what Nutella is.

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

"It amazes me that you complain about the cold but then beg for ice cream," Ivan says as he sits on a bench in the mall with Alfred.

"Dude, I didn't beg!" Alfred grumbles as he licks at his ice cream cone.

"You are right. You simply plastered your face to the display and said, 'Ivan, dude, you should totally trade some Russian money with me!' and then proceeded to demand that I be your translator."

"Yeah, and you didn't complain one bit!"

"That is because I find your childish side very cute and amusing."

"Not childish. Not cute," Alfred says between licks. Then he pauses, glancing at his ice cream and then at Ivan. "Uh…did you want some?"

Ivan giggles. "You are right; you are not cute. You are adorable."

Cheeks red, Alfred mutters, "Fine, I won't be nice to you."

When he finishes his ice cream, they walk to the arcade. One look at Ivan confirms his suspicions. "You've never been to an arcade before, have you?"

Ivan shakes his head, looking at all the games.

"Okay, help me with the token machine so that I can fix your game deprivation."

Luckily for Alfred, most of the games are the same except for the language. Ivan is fairly decent at ski-ball, but he's not coordinated enough for Dance Dance Revolution and can't use a joystick for the life of him. There's a few hunting games that he kicks Alfred's butt at though.

As they leave the arcade, Ivan giggles, "That was…fun."

"Dude, arcades in America are even better! If you go to the big ones, they have laser tag, bumper cars, and mini bowling. Oh, and we have to go put-put golfing! My birthday is going to be so awesome!"

When they arrive home, Alfred is shivering from yet another flurry outside and mumbles about waiting until tomorrow for the water balloons since it's already four o'clock and it's getting dark.

While Alfred is showering to warm up, Ivan goes into the kitchen―Lapushka in his arms―to charge his phone. He notices a missed call. Looking at Lapushka, Ivan asks, "Do you think England wants to kill me now?"

"Mew," Lapushka replies as he purrs and rubs his muzzle against Ivan's cheek.

After a few rings, an unexpected voice answers, _"Kirkland residence."_

"I see you found your way back into England's bed again," Ivan says while he walks to the living room.

" _Ah,_ Russie _, what a nice surprise. I see that you received my call."_

"Your call?"

"Oui _,_ Angleterre _was gracious enough to let me use his phone so that I would not have to retrieve my own. My hips are still out of commission."_

"You called many hours ago; why would they still be that sore?"

" _Oh,_ Russie _, it is a shame that you chose a former colony. Pirates are quite wild when…provoked."_

"Have you ever heard the saying not to poke a sleeping bear, lest you be eaten?"

" _My bear did much more than eat me. I have the rope burns to prove it, but it was oh so divine."_

Ivan settles in his windowsill and holds a fishing cat toy for Lapushka to attack. "Was there a reason why you called me or did you just want to talk about your masochistic tendencies?"

" _There is a masochist and a sadist living in every person,_ Russie _. But_ non _, that is not what I wanted to discuss with you. How are you faring with_ le petit Amérique _?"_

"Very well, I suppose. However, I fail to see how that is any concern of yours."

" _I am simply curious."_

"I have known you all my life, France, and there has been no such time when you were only curious."

" _I am wounded by such harsh words."_ There's a pause, and France's voice loses its playfulness. _"I know that you are not stupid by any means, so do not take offense, but you are aware that America is a highly sexualized country. I worry about such things, especially with your history."_

"I do not appreciate your concern or your nosiness. And yes, I am aware that America is a sexualized country, but Russia has the highest rate of sexually active women in Europe. I am not as innocent as you like to believe."

" _That is not what I meant. I am simply concerned that_ Amérique _may not understand. As smart and heroic as he is, I do not think he is that mature."_

While Francis is speaking, Alfred comes down the stairway and points to the kitchen. "Do you have the stuff to make spaghetti?"

"Please hold one moment," Ivan says into the phone before he moves it away from his mouth. "I know I have sauce and pasta, though it may not be spaghetti."

"Okay, is that good for you?"

"Yes, that is fine. I will help in a moment."

Alfred nods and disappears down the hall with an insistent Lapushka on his heels.

Moving the receiver to his mouth again, Ivan asks, "And what do you believe would happen if he does not understand?"

"Russie _, whether or not you believe me when I tell you this is not important, but I think that you and_ Amérique _are good together and I would like to see more love than hate between countries. Or anyone, for that matter. I just think that you should maybe…introduce him slowly to such a topic."_

Ivan is silent for a long moment. "Alright, I will keep that in mind."

 **Author Note: And they finally kiss! A lot! Anyways, I hope you enjoyed and maybe a little more about Russia's past next chapter! Until then, please, Please, PLEASE REVIEW!**

 **A hint for next chapter:**

After a moment, Alfred knocks on the door. "Hey, Ivan? Um, do you want me to let Lapushka in? He's been really upset all night and wouldn't eat anything, so…I think he's worried about you." When there's no reply, Alfred adds, "And, uh…he's not the only one. Can you at least say something so I know that you're alive in there?"


	7. Wounds

_**Kings**_

 _Chapter 7: Wounds_

" _Now that I know what I'm without, you can't just leave. Breathe into me and make me real. Bring me to life._

" _(Wake me up.) Wake me up inside. (I can't wake up.) Wake me up inside. (Save me.) Call my name and save me from the dark. (Wake me up.) Bid my blood to run (Wake me up.) before I come undone. (Save me.) Save me from the nothing I've become. Bring me to life."_

―" _Bring Me to Life" by Evanescence_

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

"What are you listening to?" Ivan asks as he enters the kitchen where Alfred is singing and dancing with Lapushka in his arms.

"Don't you listen to country?" Alfred asks, pausing.

Ivan shakes his head.

"Okay, come on. This is my jam, dude!" Alfred sets Lapushka on the floor and checks the water, which has yet to boil. "You don't have to sing, but dance!"

"I cannot dance, Alfred."

"Neither can I; that's not the point! Besides, you just have to move your butt!"

Ivan slowly repeats, "Move…my butt." Sounds far too much like "just show them your boobs". "I do not think that constitutes dancing."

"No, but it constitutes having fun. Loosen up, big guy!"

 _Big guy?_

Before Ivan can say anything more, Alfred is just moving his hips and doing a weird mixture of stomping, turning, and singing.

"Now, honey, ya can't blame her for what her mama gave her. It ain't right to hate her for workin' that―" Alfred leans in and grabs Ivan's butt for a split second while whispering, "―money maker."

Ivan's cheeks burn as he watches Alfred dance. And he can't help but look at what Alfred is…moving the most.

"Band shuts down at two, but we're hangin' out 'till three. We hate to see her go, but love to watch her leave!" Now Alfred takes Ivan's hands in his and jerks them back and forth in time with the music. "With that Honky Tonk Badonkadonk! Keepin' perfect rhythm makes ya wanna swing along. Got it goin' on like Donkey Kong. 'N' woo-wee, shut my mouth! Slap your grandma."

 _Why would one slap his grandmother? And what is a Honky Tonk Boat Dock?_ Ivan is more than a little confused.

"There outta be a law; get the sheriff on the phone. Lord have mercy, how's she even get them britches on? With that Honky Tonk Badonkadonk."

As the song goes back to music, Ivan asks, "What is that?"

"Honky Tonk Badonkadonk," Alfred replies, the words rolling off his tongue with a noticeable country accent that Ivan hasn't heard before.

"Which is?"

Alfred stares at him for a moment. Then he laughs. "It's your rear-end, man! 'N' it's a big en'!"

Ivan frowns slightly. "Why are you speaking like that?"

"Like what?"

"Your accent changed."

"Oh, that. It happens sometimes when I'm 'round the Southern States 'n' stuff." After a moment, Alfred glances down, dropping Ivan's hands. "Do ya not like it? I can try to get outta it if ya want. Might take a few minutes."

" _Nyet_ , I…I like it. I am just not accustomed to you speaking with…that…."

Alfred brightens immediately. "It's a country boy drawl, darlin'."

"Darlin'?" Ivan repeats, which sounds ridiculous in his Russian accent.

"Let's do another!" Alfred says, picking up his phone. "I gotta show ya all my favorites. It's gonna take a while for the pasta to cook anyways."

And Alfred continues to prove that while he can't dance, he can sing halfway decently, and he persistently tries to makes Ivan dance, even if it's just moving his hips a little.

"'Cause I saddle up my horse 'n' I ride into the city!" Alfred looks ridiculous as he mimics riding a horse. "I make a lot o' noise 'cause the girls, they are so pretty! Ridin' up 'n' down Broadway on my old stud Leroy. 'N' the girls say, 'Save a horse, ride a cowboy!' Everybody says, 'Save a horse, ride a cowboy!'"

Ivan raises an eyebrow at the wording. "Do all country songs involve sex?"

"No!" Alfred pauses. "Well, maybe, but not all of 'em."

"Prove it."

Alfred grins. "I got one that's not all 'bout sex. Just mentions it, so that counts, right?"

"Sure."

"Ya gotta dance."

"Good luck."

"C'mon, just walkin' in a circle. It ain't that hard."

After a moment, Ivan steps forward hesitantly. "Alright."

"'Kay, put your left hand on my shoulder."

Ivan does this while Alfred sets his own hand on the Russian's waist. Then Alfred interlaces their free hands. "Just walkin' 'n' rockin' back 'n' forth 'n' singin', 'kay?"

"Yes, without the singing on my part."

The song isn't as energized as the others, but Ivan likes the rhythm, even if he does have to dance. Alfred is leading, and in all, it's not that difficult, but when the American starts singing, Ivan doesn't understand half of the terminology he uses.

"I'm a forty-five spinner on an old Victrola. I'm a two-strike swinger. I'm a Pepsi-Cola. I'm a blue jean quarterback sayin', 'I love you' to the prom queen in a Chevy. I'm John Wayne, Superman, California. I'm a Kris Kristofferson Sunday mornin'. I'm my mama and daddy singin' along to Don McClean at the Levee.

"I'm a child of a backseat freedom. Baptized by rock 'n' roll. Marilyn Monroe in the Garden of Eden. Never grow up; never grow old. Just another rebel in the great wide open, on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams. 'N' I learned everythin' I needed to know: John Cougar, John Deere, John three-sixteen."

With as much as Alfred wanted to dance and sing, it's a miracle that they even finished making dinner, though constant reminders from Lapushka helped.

"So what d'ya think?" Alfred asks as he eats.

"I think it came out rather well considering that you forgot about the pasta―"

"No, I mean the accent." Alfred smirks. "D'ya like a country boy, big guy?"

Ivan promptly turns red, but tries to hide it by taking a sip of water. However, Alfred's grin widens.

"So ya like country boys a lot."

"Only one country boy," Ivan mutters, staring at his plate. Something brushes his leg, and he jolts a little before he realizes that it's Alfred's foot.

"I didn't know it 'til real recent, but I think I gotta thing for Russians." Toes wiggle at Ivan's pant leg. "Well, one Russian."

Ivan's mind swirls with images. Extremely inappropriate images that make certain parts of him wake up. Studying his rotini noodles, Ivan struggles to clear his mind of the fantasies as well as center his blood in his chest and away from his face and…well.

"Y'know, ya always say that I'm cute when I blush, but I got nothin' on your face right now."

 _I know. Stop talking._

 _Oh, please, keep talking._

Nyet _!_ Nyet, nyet, nyet _, stop!_

 _Show me why all those country songs are about sex._

Ivan quickly shakes his head, not noticing the confused look on Alfred's face. _Stop…please. Alfred, please…stop…._

" _Please, no! It hurts! STOP! I am begging you! Please!"_

" _Shut up and take it!"_

When Ivan falls silent, Alfred frowns. "Ivan?"

Nothing.

Standing and walking around the table, Alfred puts a hand on Ivan's shoulder―

"DO NOT TOUCH ME!"

Alfred freezes. Not because of a roar and fierce expression, but because Ivan is now curled up in the floor, eyes squeezed shut. His voice had been hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"Ivan…."

Violet eyes slowly open, tears pooling at the corners. Then his eyes widen. "A-Alfred. I-I apologize…um…."

"Are ya okay?" Alfred asks.

Ivan takes a deep breath and nods. " _D-da_ , I just…would like to be alone for a while."

Alfred barely has time to blink before Ivan is gone, followed by a door slamming upstairs.

Oo_oO_Oo_oO

When a ringtone starts blaring, Arthur sighs, glancing at the closed bathroom door. He picks up the phone and answers without looking at the number. "You have reached the mobile of Francis Bonnefoy. He is not available at the moment, but may I take a message?"

" _Is this a thing now?"_ Alfred's voice is lacking something, though Arthur can't pinpoint what. _"He answers your phone and you answer his?"_

Arthur rolls his eyes. "He's having a shower, but he should be out in a few minutes if you want to wait."

" _Yeah, that's fine."_

"Has something happened? I can't imagine that you would call Francis if it wasn't for love advice of some form."

There's a long pause. _"I really screwed up, Artie."_

"What have you done?"

" _I don't know!"_

"As much as I would rather blame you for every problem in the world, it might not have been your fault. Have you considered that?"

" _Yes! But I think I may have…pressured him."_

Arthur rubs his temples with one hand. "Sexually?"

" _No, with a pressure cooker."_

"Shut it, git." If Alfred is being sarcastic, he must really be upset. "What have you done? Or wait, Francis has just left the bathroom."

" _Oui_? Is there something you need, _mon ange_?" Francis asks as he runs a comb through his hair, straightened from the water.

"Alfred's having a breakdown of some form," Arthur replies as he puts the phone of speaker. "Put some bloody clothes on."

" _I'm not having a breakdown!"_

Francis ignores Arthur's demands for clothing and lies on the bed, spreading out beside his partner in all his naked glory. "What is the problem, _Amérique_?"

" _I…I don't really know. Ivan and I were dancing to country music, and because of all the singing and stuff, my accent became really Southern. I thought that Ivan liked it, but then he just…freaked out. Like…he told me not to touch him and was crying, and then he said he wanted to be alone. He hasn't come out of his room in nearly five hours."_

"Wait a moment, how does that involve pressuring him for sex?" Arthur asks.

" _I said that I thought he liked my accent. So I was…making passes…I guess."_

"And then he 'freaked out', as you said?" Francis asks.

Arthur glances at the other's face, noting the grim expression.

" _Yeah. I mean, he told me earlier that he can't go past kissing, but…he could have just told me to knock it off instead of…that."_

" _Amérique_ , I want you to listen very closely to what I am going to tell you," Francis says. His arm wraps around Arthur's shoulders, holding the other closer to him, and with such an expression of anger mixed with despair, Arthur can't find it in himself to pull away. Instead, he rests his head on Francis's shoulder. "I will not tell you what I know about _Russie_ ; that is something he shared with me in confidence and is something you will have to earn from him. However, I will tell you that your nightmares cannot compare to his past." Francis's arm tightens around Arthur. "Let him move at his own pace."

" _Okay. Um, thanks."_

" _De rein. Adieu_."

" _Yeah,_ adios _."_

Francis rolls his eyes as he hangs up and sets his phone on the nightstand. " _Amérique_ can be so clueless at times."

"Tell me about it another time, will you?" Arthur sits up and looks down at Francis. "Why have you been talking with Russia?"

"Jealous, _Angleterre_? Do not worry. You are my only, _amour._ " Francis's smile has a forced edge to it.

Arthur doesn't reply, but his fingers trail down Francis's body. It's beautiful, yes, but some things are permanent, and no country has a body without scars, some more than others. Younger countries like America only have a few, but others…Arthur can only assume what Yao's body looks like.

Francis willingly opens his legs, knowing where Arthur's fingers are going. On the inside of his right thigh, the smooth skin is pale white and raised, shaped into a swastika.

"I suppose…some wounds are worse than others," Arthur murmurs, tracing the scar. "Why is that? Why have I not got these kinds of wounds from the Battle of Britain?"

"Because London did not fall. Paris did."

"Even so. I've gone to war and I've been…" Arthur closes his eyes for a moment. "So why…?"

Francis sits up, leaning over to press a kiss to Arthur's neck. "I do not know, _Angleterre_. I am hardly the most abused country."

Arthur tilts his head to the side, letting the other darken the hickey on his neck. "Why have we got to suffer this? If we didn't exist…the world would be happier. We've got to live through the horrors of war, rape, and pain worse than death, but a bullet through our brains or a knife in our chests will do nothing but increase the agony."

Francis's lips move to Arthur's ear. "Let me love you for every time you have tried."

"We would be awake all night," Arthur whispers.

"I do not care." Their fingers intertwine as they fall against the mattress together. "Let me. _Mon ange_ , I want to replace your pain with pleasure."

Arthur smiles into the other's collarbone. "Only if you let me do the same."

Francis kisses Arthur's forehead. "Two nights then."

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

As the night draws to a close at midnight, Alfred turns off the lights in the house and pauses at the door of the guest bedroom. Lapushka beats at the door with sheathed claws, meowing pathetically.

After a moment, Alfred knocks on the door. "Hey, Ivan? Um, do you want me to let Lapushka in? He's been really upset all night and wouldn't eat anything, so…I think he's worried about you." When there's no reply, Alfred adds, "And, uh…he's not the only one. Can you at least say something so I know that you're alive in there?"

Silence.

Alfred sighs and pets Lapushka on the head, telling the cat, "You can sleep with me tonight if you want."

"Wait."

The door opens slowly, though Alfred can't see Ivan. Lapushka immediately runs in and rounds the edge of the door, purring like he swallowed a motorcycle.

The door remains open, void of light.

Alfred quietly asks, "So…um…I guess I'll go to bed then. Goodnight."

"You do not need to, though it is your choice." Ivan's voice is even, not shaking or changing at all in pitch, but that only concerns Alfred more.

"Do you want me to stay in here?"

Ivan is silent for a long moment, still behind the door. "I would enjoy that."

So Alfred changes his clothes and returns to Ivan's room. The Russian is standing near the closet door, holding Lapushka. His hair glistens lightly, probably from a shower, though Alfred doesn't think he's been out of the bedroom at all, and he's wrapped in some sort of robe, plus his scarf.

After an awkward minute of silence, Alfred says, "So…I guess I'll lie down if that's not a problem."

Ivan shrugs, nuzzling Lapushka. "I will sleep in the closet. I do not have a preference where you sleep."

"In the closet?" Alfred looks at the closet more closely than before, noticing the blankets and pillows falling out of the doors. "That can't be comfortable."

Ivan doesn't look up from Lapushka. "I do not mind. Goodnight."

As Ivan lies down in a plethora of blankets and pillows, Alfred opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. The closet is rather large, maybe the size of a full-size bed, and if there was a mattress underneath it, Alfred would probably dive face first into it with as comfy as it looks. But he doesn't, watching as Lapushka settles in.

Ivan eventually puts a hand on the door. "I am closing this now. Decide quickly."

The worry outweighs everything else. "Scoot over."

It's a tight fit, but it's not as uncomfortable as Alfred originally thought it would be. Ivan closes the door, putting them in darkness without even moonlight. Alfred has his back to the wall, his arm around Ivan, who has his face buried in Alfred's chest.

"I…um…I called France―" Ivan stiffens. "―and he told me to let you move at your own pace. So…yeah. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, but…I'll listen."

Ivan lets out a breath. "Thank you, Alfred."

"Uh, you're welcome. I haven't really done anything, but―"

" _Nyet_ , you have done more than most would." Ivan snuggles closer. "Goodnight, _myshka_."

"Night."

 **Author Note: Oh, what's wrong with Russia? I'm trying to put in a twist, so I hope you all are surprised. I know you're probably not though. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if you did, please, Please, PLEASE REVIEW!**

" **Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" by Trace Adkins**

" **Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy" by Big & Rich**

" **John Cougar, John Deere, John 3:16" by Keith Urban**

 **A hint for next chapter:**

"Ivan, I―"

"Shut up. You want to know, so I will tell you," Ivan says, his voice barely above a whisper but with the force of a roar.


	8. Voice

_**Kings**_

 _Chapter 8: Voice_

" _I remember tears streaming down your face when I said, 'I'll never let you go.' When all those shadows almost killed your light. I remember you said, 'Don't leave me here alone.' But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight._

" _Just close your eyes. The sun is going down. You'll be alright. No one can hurt you now. Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound."_

―" _Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift_

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

Alfred can't get used to waking up as Ivan's stuffed animal. Seriously, the guy giggles and acts like a child half the time, but he's nearly six feet tall and cuddles Alfred like a teddy bear, and on the rare occasion that he doesn't have Alfred in an iron grip, he's the little spoon, a very demanding little spoon.

And right now is a very good example of this.

With his back to the wall, Alfred is crushed between said wall and Ivan. He doesn't necessarily mind because this means that Ivan is much calmer than he was yesterday, but the Russian hasn't stirred very much all morning, even though Alfred's phone says that it's nearly eleven o'clock.

"Dude, you alive?" Alfred whispers.

"I am breathing, am I not?" Ivan replies.

"Yeah, but aren't you usually up at the crack of dawn and stuff?"

Ivan sighs. "If you want to get up, I will not stop you. I am sure that you are probably very hungry."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then speak clearly or shut up."

A long minute passes in silence.

Alfred is about to get up and insist that Ivan does the same, but Ivan moves first. In less than a second, Alfred finds himself on his back, the Russian looming over him like a lion over a zebra.

"U-uh, Ivan―?"

"Do you want me?" Ivan interrupts.

Alfred's mind goes blank for a moment, his eyes wide and mouth open. He can't see Ivan's expression in the darkness, but he's not sure if he wants to see it either. "You mean, want you like…want you?" Alfred wonders if that falls under "speak clearly or shut up". He tries again. "Like…do I want…your body 'want you'?"

"I believe that is the connotation. Unless we are speaking Spanish."

"N-no, we're doing English. So that's a yes?"

"When are you going to answer my question?" There's something in Ivan's voice that Alfred doesn't like. It's not the playful voice he usually has; not the teasing or husky voice from when they kissed yesterday. It's more…hollow.

Alfred tries to swallow, though his mouth is dry, and he ends up clearing his throat instead. "Of course I want you. Did you miss that yesterday? You know, kissing and the mouse comments?"

If Alfred wanted to say more, he couldn't. His lips are crushed by Ivan's.

It's nothing like yesterday. There's no teasing, no playfulness, and definitely no gentleness. And it sparks dominance in Alfred's body. He tries to push back and flip them over, but Ivan pins both his hands above his head, pressing him into the pillows with an only slightly larger build. Their tongues battle like they're at war, and Alfred refuses to surrender, even when Ivan's tongue is in his mouth and most definitely the winner.

But when Alfred rolls his hips upwards into Ivan's, he stops.

The American turns his head, breaking the kiss and panting. "Wait." He takes a few breaths. "Why aren't you turned on?"

Ivan pulls back, also out of breath and confused. "What do you mean?"

After he pulls his hands free from Ivan's grip, Alfred mutters, "You're not…you know."

"Are you referring to arousal?" Ivan asks.

"Yeah."

"I apologize. My mind is slightly…preoccupied."

At that, Alfred glares at the Russian. "Dude, I don't want to make out with you if you're thinking about something else."

Ivan moves off of him, his head down. "Again, I apologize. I thought…if you said that you wanted it…then maybe…."

"I still do." Alfred sits up and pulls his legs to his chest. It doesn't help the tightness of his pants, but it does help hide the cause of said tightness. "I-I mean, well…yeah. But if you don't like it, then there's not really any point."

Ivan doesn't say anything for a long moment. Then he finally murmurs, "I want to touch you. But when I try, I become afraid that I will hurt you. And then when I want you to touch me, I am afraid that you will hurt me."

"Why? I'm not going to hurt you, and I'm a big boy; I can handle whatever you throw at me." Then Alfred pauses. "Oh, do you mean you're kinky? I mean, I've never done BDSM or anything, but―"

"BDSM?" Ivan repeats.

"Yeah."

"What does that mean?"

"Uh…I think it's Bondage-Discipline-Sadism-Masochism."

" _Nyet_!" Ivan waves his hands in front of himself furiously. " _Nyet, nyet, nyet, nyet_! I do not enjoy that!"

"Okay, don't have a cow. Geez."

There's another minute of silence, but it's much more awkward this time.

Alfred eventually has to break it. "You know, I don't want to do anything that you're not comfortable with. But aside from that…it might help if we go slow."

"I agree." Ivan moves forward, and Alfred lies back again, letting the other crawl over him. "If…if you want to stop, just say so."

"Isn't that my line?" Alfred asks.

Ivan doesn't acknowledge the comment. "Do not touch my chest or my front in any way, only my back. And I would prefer to not be on my back at any time."

"What about your arms?"

"Arms are alright."

"Sides?"

"Alright as well."

Alfred rests his hands on Ivan's waist, rubbing circles into the scarred skin. "Anything else?"

Ivan peppers the other's cheek with tiny kisses. "I will not ask that you be loud or vocal, but…I want…" He pauses. "I need to know that you are enjoying everything."

"I can do that."

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

"Dude, this is kind of ridiculous. You know that, right?"

"It is not ridiculous."

"Ivan―"

"Hush."

"I won't. I'm not broken."

Ivan huffs. "Let me take care of you."

"I don't need to be taken care of."

"Please?"

Alfred opens his mouth to once again protest, but stops when he sees those pleading, violet eyes. "Fine."

Ivan smiles. "Thank you."

"Weirdo."

After they woke up two hours later, the first thing Alfred complained about was hunger and the pain in his hips. Since then, Ivan has made breakfast and served it to Alfred on the couch. Said couch is now some sort of pillow haven, and while it is very comfortable with its softness and heating pad under him, Alfred can't help but want to take care of himself. Ivan has been sweet and everything, but…Alfred thinks that there's no way Ivan will touch him again.

Though…the sex was pretty good. Well, sex is amazing in and of itself, but Alfred doesn't usually enjoy all the vanilla stuff. Maybe it's different when you really like someone.

Ivan pulls up Netflix and hands the remote to Alfred. "We can watch anything you want, _myshka_."

"Anything?"

" _Da_ , anything."

Alfred glares at the TV. "And you swear you won't ever tell Arthur?"

" _Da_ , I promise."

Ivan continues to look confused until Alfred pulls up _Sherlock_. Then it clicks. With a giggle, Ivan says, "You are so cute, _Fredka_."

With a smack behind the other's head, Alfred decides not to reply.

For Ivan's benefit, Alfred selects the first episode. He could watch these episodes fifteen times in a row and still click replay.

Within the first twenty minutes, Alfred knows Ivan is hooked. His eyes are glued to the screen as he cuddles against Alfred, his arms wrapped around his American teddy bear. Within the first hour of the episode, Ivan says, "You have watched this before, _da_?"

"Yeah, it's awesome."

"When do Sherlock and John…what is the term…'get together'?"

Alfred glances down at the ashen-haired head on his shoulder. "Huh? They don't."

"They do not?" Ivan frowns. "Why not? They obviously have feelings for each other."

"Dude, they're just friends."

"They are as much friends as France and England or you and I. Maybe not yet, but eventually. John was flirting with Sherlock in the restaurant."

"Huh? No, he wasn't."

Ivan rolls his eyes. "You are not very perceptive, are you?"

"I am!"

"Hardly."

"Okay, smart guy, why do you think he was flirting?"

"He flirted with the girl in the car, did he not?"

"Well, yeah."

"Did you not notice that he acted the same way with Sherlock when they sat down?"

"He did?" Alfred picks up the remote and starts rewinding.

"And Sherlock is a genius; that does not require explanation. Would he really mistake John making conversation with flirting?"

"Uh…."

"You just did not pick up on it because they are gay, _da_?"

"Wait. Hold on a second." Alfred pauses Netflix and looks at Ivan. "Are you gay?"

Ivan shrugs. "Bisexual, I believe."

"So you've…been with women?"

At that, Ivan is quiet for a long moment. "I…have fallen in love with a woman before, _da._ "

"Who?"

Another pause. "Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova."

"Who?"

"She was a Grand Duchess of Imperial Russia. The last, actually. She was assassinated in 1918."

"Oh." Alfred doesn't really know what to say to that. "I'm sorry."

"Do not be. It is in the past. Besides, no nation can overcome our curse."

"What curse?"

Ivan looks up at the other. "You do not know? Platonically or otherwise, when a nation falls in love with a human, that human dies an awful death. Anastasia, Joan of Arc―" He pauses. "―and many also suspect Amelia Earhart."

Alfred shrugs. "Well, I guess, but…she was like a sister. Nothing more. I've never felt _that_ way about a human."

"How lucky you are." Ivan exhales. "Are you gay then?"

"No, I've slept with girls and guys. Mostly girls though."

"Good to know."

"Well, that's not really important now, is it? I mean…" Alfred gestures to the two of them.

"Less than a week and you are confessing your love and faithfulness to me?"

"Maybe not love, but…I guess we _have_ moved pretty fast." Alfred combs his fingers through Ivan's hair. "Does that bother you?"

Ivan leans into the touch. " _Nyet_ , this is the best I have felt since…" He closes his eyes and smiles. "I have never felt this…wonderful."

"Wonderful? Glad to be of service."

"Then you feel the same?" Ivan knows that it's too much to hope for.

After a moment, Alfred leans back against the pillows. "Yeah. It's kind of weird, but I think I like it."

"Weird?"

Alfred coughs slightly as pink dusts his cheeks. "Well, yeah. I mean, I've never…felt like this before. But they always say that the first love never lasts, you know? I guess I just don't want to think about it being temporary."

Ivan hums quietly. "But the first love is usually puppy love in high school." Then he giggles. "Childish as we both may be, I think we are old enough to know what we want. And besides that fact, we also spent several decades dancing around each other."

"Dancing around each other? I thought you said that Soviet Union was his own person?"

" _Da_ , he was. And he hated you with much passion. However, I am the one who stood in for him. Though I did and still do loathe him, I enjoyed teasing you."

"Like a little boy pulling on the hair of his crush."

"If that is how you would like to imagine it, _da_. My point was that we are more than capable to decide where this will lead."

"Yeah, I like the sound of that." Alfred twirls a bit of Ivan's hair around his finger. "So what did the USSR actually look like?"

"He was the exact image of Vladimir Lenin."

"Who's that?"

"The person who led the Bolshevik Revolution."

"The what?"

Ivan sighs and sits up. "The Bolshevik Revolution, also called the Russian Revolution, was the overthrowing of the Russian government. Once that was accomplished, the Soviet Union was created as the first communist state."

"Oh, I get it. So the USSR looks like the Lenin dude that made him?"

After a long moment, Ivan closes his eyes and nods in exasperation. " _Da_ , I suppose that is correct."

"Why were you so scared of him? I mean, he's a bad guy and all, but why didn't you just kick him out or something?"

Ivan's eyes harden. "You think it would have been so simple?"

"I mean, it would've been hard, but I got independence from England, so…."

There's a pause. Standing from the couch and moving to the window―where Lapushka is sleeping―Ivan looks out at the snow as it whirls past. "England…taxed you. The Boston Massacre and other such events were awful, and I will never undermine the deaths of innocent people, but..."

Yet again, there is silence. Alfred isn't sure if he wants Ivan to continue; he can't see the other's face, but he knows the expression is one of sorrow and confusion. It's weird that a nation so old can still seem so lost and confused, but Alfred knows that he can't imagine what Ivan has been through. If he doubted it before, France assured him.

"You think…that I just sat back and watched the Bolsheviks take over my country?" Ivan looks back at Alfred with a look of betrayal, as if the American broke his trust. And while Alfred would be worried that that's the case, he knows that Ivan wouldn't be speaking to him if he had done such a thing. "My people fought. It was a civil war; do you remember that conversation? You were not the only one rendered useless. I could not lead my forces, but I wanted to. Then he killed the entire family of tsars, Anastasia included." Ivan turns back to the window. "He locked me in a cage and starved me. Starved my people. Tied me up and raped me. Branded me inside and out."

"Ivan, I―"

"Shut up. You want to know, so I will tell you," Ivan says, his voice barely above a whisper but with the force of a roar. "As the USSR expanded, he also locked up the Baltics, Katyusha, and Natalya. He became bored of my body easily enough and forced me onto the Baltics. It was usually Lithuania, but sometimes Latvia and Estonia. They always cried and begged for it to stop, but they never tried to hurt me." A tear slips down his cheek. "It is why they are still terrified of me to this day, why I am scared to touch you."

After several minutes and it seems that Ivan is finished, Alfred stands from the couch and walks over to Ivan, trying to hide his slight limp. He hesitates before he slips his arms around the other. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…geez, I'm sorry."

"It would come up eventually―"

"Not just that." Alfred shakes his head against Ivan's chest. "I tried to help, or Hoover did. I thought that you were the one that refused it. And then while I was happy at home during the twenties and helping set up the Great Depression, you were suffering like that."

Ivan rests his chin on Alfred's crown. "Do not worry about it."

"No." Alfred tightens his arms. "Stop acting like this stuff isn't a big deal."

"It is not a 'big deal', as you say. Compared to the Mongolian―" Ivan cuts himself off, but the arms around him somehow tighten further.

Alfred quietly asks, "The scar around your neck…is it from the USSR?"

" _Nyet_ , but he made it worse. My voice was already permanently damaged of course, but―"

"Your voice?"

Ivan rubs his hand in slow circles on Alfred's lower back, moving his head to kiss the other's shoulder. "Do you think that my voice is naturally this high-pitched? I am the largest nation in the world; I had a voice as deep as Germany's at one point."

"I think it suits you better the way it is now," Alfred murmurs.

"I do not mind it most of the time. The pain is gone, though I cannot shout."

"Wait, so when you're mad―"

"My voice becomes very quiet and hoarse, _da_. It is rather annoying sometimes, as one cannot usually determine whether I am sad or angry."

Alfred shakes his head again. "When you're upset, your voice is quiet but not raspy. It's like the difference between rabbit quiet and snake quiet."

"Alright, if that makes sense to you."

 **Author Note: And now we know! The voice thing and the nations' curse both come from headcanons that I found on Google, so credit to their original creators. If you liked the chapter, please, Please, PLEASE REVIEW!**

 **A hint for next chapter:**

"Hm." Ivan pauses, not looking up. "We all have kings though, _da_? Or maybe more popularly, ghosts?"


	9. Bent

_**Kings**_

 _Chapter 9: Bent_

" _When the sun had left, and the winter came, and the sky fall could only bring the rain, I sat in darkness, all broken-hearted. I couldn't find a day I didn't feel alone. I never meant to cry; started losing hope, but somehow, baby, you broke through and saved me. You're an angel. Tell me you're never leaving, 'cause you're the first thing I know I can believe in._

" _You're holy, holy, holy, holy. I'm high on loving you, high on loving you. You're holy, holy, holy, holy. I'm high on loving you, high on loving you."_

―" _H.O.L.Y." by Florida Georgia Line_

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

"Geez, that's cold!" Alfred squeaks―though he will insist that it was _not_ a squeak but a very masculine gasp―after a water balloon breaks on his back. "Get back here!"

Ivan turns and flees around the sunflowers as Alfred chases him. "So that you can hit me in return? I think I shall pass!"

"No, I just want to give you a big, wet kiss!" Alfred laughs, launching a balloon at Ivan's retreating back, but it flies too far to the left and breaks on the ground.

"Kiss me where you hit me then!" Ivan replies over his shoulder as he turns the corner.

Nearly as soon as he says it, he feels a cool splash on his lower back, making him stumble long enough for Alfred to tackle him. He feels a small pressure on the hit location, followed by an overdramatic kiss sound.

"There. All better," Alfred says as he rolls Ivan over, still straddling him. However, the American holds one more balloon in his hand.

Ivan pouts and crosses his arms over his face with hunched shoulders, but he makes sure that Alfred can still see his eyes. "Alfred…would you really hit me when I am down?" He throws in a sniffle for extra effect. "A-are you really that cruel?"

"Yeah, I am. This is the last one and I'm going to soak you one way or another."

Ivan laughs, arms falling away to rest on the dirt. "What was the score again? Ten to three?"

"Four!" Alfred shouts as he drops the balloon on Ivan's head. "Your big nose is the best balloon-popper ever."

Still laughing, Ivan wipes off his wet face with the clean part of his forearm. "While that may be true, I know that you love my nose."

"Well, it's big and kind of cute. So?"

"So now it hurts. You should kiss it better," Ivan says.

Alfred rolls his eyes and leans down, placing a peck on the other's nose. "Happy?"

"Mh, not just yet."

Their lips meet gently but firmly. Ivan wraps his arms around Alfred and pulls him closer so that their chests are flush together. At the demanding touches, the American chuckles into the kiss before he breaks away, out of breath. "Slow down, cowboy."

Ivan's lips pull into a smirk. "Save a horse and ride a cowboy." Then he frowns, pausing. "Honk Tonk the Donkey Kong."

Alfred bursts into laughter. "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk. Donkey Kong is a different part."

"Why can you not call it something else?"

"Because 'Baby Got Back' and 'Fat Bottomed Girls' aren't country enough."

"What?"

"Never mind." Alfred smiles, and Ivan knows that he should've tried to run then. "We're going to have our own country party. Do you like chicken and dumplings?"

"Why are you making Chinese cuisine for a country party?"

Alfred sighs and shakes his head. "You have so much to learn, big guy."

Ivan ignores the comment. "Why do you call me that?"

"Huh? It's a pet name. Like you call me ' _myshka_ ' and that weird version of my name."

" _Fredka_."

"Yeah, that." Alfred sits up. "Do you not like it, baby?"

Ivan grimaces. "Do not call me _that_."

"Sure, honey."

"Or that."

"Why not, sweetheart?"

Ivan groans.

"You're being difficult, love."

At that, Ivan pauses. Then he shakes his head. "That one sounds too much like England."

"Geez, you're picky," Alfred mutters, glaring playfully down at the other.

Ivan looks away. " _Vanya_ is cute, _da_?"

"Yeah, but I have to come up with it. And besides, it has to be American, not Russian."

Ivan rolls his eyes.

"Go take a shower while I start dinner. I'm sure that Lapushka was unhappy to not be included in washing off this morning."

They spend another ten minutes washing the dirt off of each other with the water hose, though Alfred's hand slips far too many times for spraying Ivan in the face to be accidental.

Oo_oO_Oo_oO

"Did you find all the ingredients?" Ivan asks as he walks into the kitchen in athletic shorts and a tank top that says something in Russian on it.

"Just barely, but yeah." Alfred has rolled out the dough already and is cutting it into strips.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Drop the dough into the pot. Make sure that you drop it from a short distance so that it doesn't splash on you."

Ivan has a frown on his face, so Alfred stops cutting and picks up a few strips of dough. "Watch; it's not hard, I promise." He drops a few pieces into the boiling broth, making sure that the dough is touching the liquid before he releases it. "See?"

While Alfred cuts the dough for Ivan to drop, the Russian asks, "So these are American dumplings?"

"Yeah, they're amazing. And then I'll add the chicken once it's done cooking."

Once the kitchen is clean and the chicken and dumplings are ready, Alfred and Ivan sit down to eat. Along with Lapushka, of course.

"Careful; it's hot," Alfred warns as he touches his tongue to the broth on his spoon.

"I can see that from the steam. If it is so hot, why are you eating it?" Ivan asks as he fishes a few pieces of chicken out of his dumplings for Lapushka.

"Because I love dumplings, and burning my tongue is not enough to keep me from them."

Ivan giggles, but says nothing.

"Why do you take care of Lapushka as much as you do anyways?" Alfred asks while he blows on his spoonful of food.

Ivan is now using a knife to cut up Lapushka's chicken into bite-sized pieces. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, most people just give their cats a can of food and stuff. They don't train them or let them sit at the dinner table."

"If Lapushka were my child, would my behavior be odd?"

Alfred shrugs. "No, I guess not."

"And I told you the first night you stayed here, did I not? I enjoy caring for him."

"Yeah, your little kitty king," Alfred says with a laugh.

"I knew you found that far too amusing."

"You, the biggest nation in the world, serve a feline, a ball of purring fluff, as if he were your king."

"A good king to serve, _da_?"

"I don't have any king to serve, and that's not going to change."

Violet eyes watch him. Alfred has grown used to the feeling of Ivan's eyes on him, but it still unnerves him sometimes.

After a long moment, Ivan starts eating, stating that it tastes delicious. Alfred rambles about random things until he stands to get seconds. Finished with his first bowl, Ivan waits to get seconds and occupies his hands by playing with Lapushka. The cat is sprawled in his lap, playing with his fingers.

"What are you thinking about?" Alfred asks.

"Nothing."

"No, you've got your thinking look. Can't fool me, dude."

Ivan rolls his eyes. Then he says, "You say you do not serve a king."

"I don't. Got rid of him in 1783."

"Hm." Ivan pauses, not looking up. "We all have kings though, _da_? Or maybe more popularly, ghosts?"

"What, like the past and stuff?"

"Perhaps. Regrets that we try not to think about. People we feel that we have failed or disappointed. Images that we try to become."

Alfred stares at the calm expression on Ivan's face. Not blank, sad, angry, or happy. Just calm. It's as if his face is the ocean's surface, free of ripples and waves. Of course, that's all it is; the surface. Alfred swallows his mouthful before he asks, "Who are your kings then?"

"I suppose…the largest would be friendship."

"Friendship?" Alfred didn't expect that.

" _Da_ , friendship. I consider most all nations to be my friends, but…I am aware that the feeling is not mutual. I cannot change their opinions of me; I know this, though I wish that it were not true."

Alfred hates that Ivan's expression doesn't change at all as he says. "You changed my opinion of you. And France…aren't you two good friends?"

Ivan shakes his head. " _Nyet_ , we are not close. As nations, we are on good terms. As people, we have helped each other emotionally, but nothing beyond that."

"Still. I used to hate you, and now…."

At that, Ivan's lips twitch upwards. "I suppose you are the exception, but that is not a surprise."

"Guess not," Alfred says, chuckling.

"And you? What are your kings?"

Alfred shrugs. "I told you; I don't have a king."

"Then say that you do not wish to talk about it, _da_?"

"Just like when you say that you're fine?" Alfred mutters around his dumplings.

Ivan scratches under Lapushka's chin in silence for a long minute. "I think that is different."

"Yeah? How do you figure that?"

"I am not trying to be difficult by saying this, but I do not understand why you always disagree when I say that I am fine."

"Do you know the definition of 'fine'?" Alfred asks in annoyance. "It means that you're not upset, angry, sad, depressed, or anything within a ballpark of those terms. And usually when people say that they're fine, they really aren't. Women do it all the time when someone has screwed up."

Ivan tilts his head down, and Alfred sees the way his shoulders hunch up. "And I do not understand why you become so irritable when we discuss such topics. I will be far more distressed by your frustration than anything else."

"Ivan, I can't fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong!"

"I do not want you to try to fix anything. Why will you not just listen?"

Alfred realizes that Ivan's voice had steadily become quieter as his own had grown louder. With a huff, he runs a hand through his hair and leans back in his chair. "Okay. I'll listen."

After a moment, Ivan's posture also relaxes. He continues to play with Lapushka as he speaks. "I told you before that sadness is something that one must learn to live with. I believe that we differ greatly in that sense due to our ages and histories. That is to say, I have lived longer with hardship and am able to handle it much better than you can."

"I can handle hardship just as well as you can," Alfred mutters.

"Then we handle it differently. Would you disagree with that statement?"

Alfred shakes his head.

"I find American culture intriguing at times for that reason. If there is something that upsets, angers, or depresses you, it must be avoided. Your media is heavily sexualized, and yet, your people are very private about the topic."

"It's the Puritan part of me."

"But it is something that I find very odd," Ivan says. "Just because something has hurt me in the past or is difficult to think about, that does not mean that I am sad. There have been times when I have been upset, but I did not claim that I was fine in those instances."

Alfred chuckles.

"What is it? Did I say something amusing?" Ivan asks.

"No, but I think it's ironic."

"What is?"

Alfred gestures to Ivan vaguely. "I think two things go into what you just said. First, you are seriously out of touch with your emotions, so I don't think you would even know if you were sad or depressed. And second, you don't want to affect me."

"Affect you?" Ivan repeats.

"I mean, you don't want me to be upset if you are." Alfred stands and walks around the table, kneeling beside the Russian with one hand in Lapushka's fur. "And you're not even aware of it. If you don't believe that you're upset, then I automatically won't be either, according to that logic."

Ivan looks down at the other. "You always want to fix everything." Then he moves his eyes to Lapushka, who purrs and demands more attention. "You cannot fix me though."

"You're not broken."

"Do you believe that?"

Alfred takes one of Ivan's hands in his and brings it to his lips. "I heard this in a song once, and I can't think of someone who it applies to more: you're not broken, just bent."

"Have you ever tried to straighten a bent paperclip?" Ivan asks quietly.

"You're not a paperclip though. I think you're more like steel or something like that, and that…with enough heat, that's easy to fix."

"Are you saying that you want to melt me?" Ivan pulls his hand away from Alfred's lips to run it through his hair.

Alfred smiles, leaning into the touch. "Are you saying you'll let me, sunflower?"

Ivan's breath catches for a moment.

"Like that one, don't you?"

With a smile, Ivan murmurs, "I think that I will allow you to do anything to me if you continue to call me that."

"Don't tempt me," Alfred says as he stands. "Ready to dance?"

Ivan nods. "I will clean up and meet you in the living room when I am done. Set up the music."

Alfred punches the air in victory like a child, thoroughly scaring Lapushka.

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

"So we will be dancing all night?" Ivan asks as Alfred clicks his phone on, now connected to a speaker.

"Nah, I ain't got that kinda stamina."

Ivan wraps his arms around Alfred from behind. "Speaking with that…drawl, you will be my end."

"I can't change that, sunflower."

Ivan shivers.

"C'mon, we ain't got all night. Let's dance."

The music that they start with is lighter, easier to bounce along with. Ivan finds that he particularly likes a song Alfred says is "Stuck Like Glue" by Sugarland. Maybe that would end up being their theme song is several years. It already seems like France and England's song.

"Absolutely nobody knows me better. No one that can make me feel so good," Alfred sings along while he leads Ivan in some sort of fast-paced waltz mixed with the tango, but mostly just stepping in a circle. "How did we stay so long together? When everybody, everybody said we never would. And just when I, I start to think they're right, the love has died―

"There you go makin' my heart beat again, heart beat again, heart beat again. There you go makin' me feel like a kid. Won't cha do it, do it one time? There you go pullin' me right back in, right back in, right back in, and I know I'm never lettin' this go. I'm stuck on you. Whoa, whoa, stuck like glue. You and me, baby, we're stuck like glue."

They take a break to sit in the windowsill and play with Lapushka, watching the moon as it illuminates the night sky. It's not snowing anymore, and there are no clouds. Ivan can't help but feel saddened by that. Judging by Alfred's expression, he feels the same. A flight back to the United States is waiting for him.

The slower songs come next, and Ivan likes that he actually knows how to dance to these. Not too fast, not too slow, but somewhere in between, and he leads Alfred this time while the other continues to sing.

"I've been thinkin' 'bout our love situation. All this attraction in the present tense. I've reached the only logical conclusion: love ain't supposed to make sense."

Ivan giggles an "amen" into Alfred's ear, making the other miss the next few words in exchange for a quick kiss on the lips.

"This ain't no thinkin' thing. Right brain, left brain; it goes a little deeper than that. It's a chemical, physical, emotional devotion, passion that we can't hold back. There's nothin' that we need to analyze. There ain't no rhyme, a reason why. This ain't, this ain't no thinkin' thing."

After that song, Alfred states, "Let's go back to fast stuff. I got too much energy."

Ivan nods along, letting the other choose some other songs. He doesn't mention Alfred's blush.

They start back at a fast pace, Alfred leading Ivan's two left feet and Ivan attempting to figure out if Alfred is dancing, stomping, impersonating a monkey, or a mixture of all three. Most likely the latter.

"I got that real good, feel good stuff up under the seat of my big, black, jacked-up truck. Rollin' on thirty-fives, pretty girl by my side. You got that suntan, skirt, and boots, waitin' for you to look my way and scoot your little hot self over here. Girl, hand me another beer."

Ivan wonders if there's something feminine about himself, but then thinks that country music likely does not involve homosexuality at all. Of course, he can't really say much since his people are worse than Americans about such things, but still. This doesn't seem like a song that would fit Alfred, particularly in the current situation, but he doesn't ask. They're both having fun regardless.

"All them other boys wanna wind you up and take you downtown, but you look like the kind that likes to take it way out. Out where the corn rows grow. Row, row my boat. Floatin' down the Flint River. Catch us up a little catfish dinner. Gonna sound like a winner when I lay you down and love you right. Yeah, that's my kinda night."

 _They really are all about sex,_ Ivan thinks, but he lets Alfred pull him into a kiss without complaint.

 **Author Note: And more country music! I hope you guys liked the chapter! I'm bringing the story to a close soon, but there's a sequel. If you're excited about that, please, Please, PLEASE REVIEW!**

" **Stuck Like Glue" by Sugarland**

" **[This Ain't] No Thinkin' Thing" by Trace Adkins**

" **That's My Kinda Night" by Luke Bryan**

 **A hint for next chapter:**

"I think I will shower early today," Ivan says while he holds Lapushka in his arms.

Alfred wants to smack himself because…wow, he's jealous of a cat.


	10. Brothers

_**Kings**_

 _Chapter 10: Brothers_

" _You know I'd fall apart without you. I don't know how you do what you do. 'Cause everything that don't make sense about me makes sense when I'm with you. Like everything that's green, girl, I need you, but it's more than one and one makes two. Yeah, put aside the math and the logic of it. You gotta know you're wanted, too._

"' _Cause I wanna wrap you up, wanna kiss your lips; I wanna make you feel wanted. And I wanna call you mine, wanna hold your hand forever, and never let you forget it. Yeah, I wanna make you feel wanted."_

―" _Wanted" by Hunter Hayes_

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

" _The Brits have got the monarchy. The US has the money, but I know that you want to be Canadian. The French have got their wine and cheese. Koalas chill with―"_

Ivan attempts to rouse Alfred, but it's only nine o'clock in the morning. He receives a mumbled plea for five more minutes and then a quiet snore. With a sigh, Ivan answers the phone. "This is the cell phone of Alfred F. Jones."

" _Russia?"_

" _Da_ , Alfred is still sleeping and refuses to wake up."

There's a long silence on the other end of the line.

"Canada? Are you still there?" Ivan asks.

A string of French follows, though Ivan is only able to pick out a few curses. _"Push him out of bed if you have to; I don't care. Wake him up, because he has a lot of explaining to do."_

"A-alright. Please hold for a moment."

Ivan can't remember a time when Matthew has sounded so furious. Well, World War II, but….

 _Best not to think about it_ , Ivan tells himself as he roughly shakes Alfred's shoulder. " _Fredka_ , Canada is on the phone and very unhappy."

"Mh, tell him…to call back…or something," Alfred grumbles. "Wanna sleep…."

With a huff, Ivan picks up his book and gives Alfred's head a hard thwack. A paperback, yes, but effective.

"Dude!" Alfred shouts, rubbing his sore scalp. "What was that for?!"

Ivan replaces his book for Alfred's phone and puts the device to the American's ear. "Speak with Canada. I will not be blamed for your lack of intelligence in the early morning."

Alfred rolls his eyes and takes the phone. "Yeah, what? This better be important, Mattie."

" _There is no possible way for Russia to pick up your phone that quickly unless he's in bed with you."_

"Well, I'm in his bed actually, but whatever. Why's that such a big deal?"

" _You are in bed with Russia."_

"Yeah. If that's all you wanted to know, I'm going back to sleep."

" _Hang up the phone and I will board a plane right now."_

"You're worse than Arthur, you know that?"

" _One of us had to learn to take care of you."_

"Shut up. I can take care of myself."

There's French on the other end of the line. _"You haven't called in several days and I wanted to check in on you. So explain. Why are you in bed with Russia?"_

Alfred sighs, rolling over to lie against his bedmate. Ivan doesn't say anything and wraps an arm around the other while he holds his book open in his free hand. "Mattie, it's not a big deal. Ivan and I kind of…you know, clicked. So yeah, I've been sleeping in his bed the past couple nights." _And his closet, too._ "Don't worry about it."

" _Al, you went from talking about being left in a sunflower purgatory that was possibly bugged to sleeping in his bed."_

Ivan gives Alfred a confused look. "Sunflower purgatory?"

"A lot has changed," Alfred says, ignoring Ivan.

" _Clearly."_

"Dude, stop acting all high and mighty."

" _Then say it straight."_

"I don't know, okay? I think we're dating, but I don't know what all this stuff is like between nations."

" _Are you happy?"_

"Huh? Yeah. Why?"

" _That's all I need to know."_

"Then why didn't you say that first?!"

" _Because that's revenge for not telling me immediately."_

"What are we? Teenage girls?"

" _No, we're twins. Mama always told us to stick together, no matter what, and I want to fulfill that. No keeping secrets from me, alright?"_

"You're so dramatic."

"Merci _, I learned from the best."_

"Yeah, 'the best' is currently screwing Arthur."

" _Was that supposed to surprise me?"_

"Does everyone know about that except me?!"

" _That is a safe assumption. It's not that hard to figure out."_

"Whatever. I'm going back to sleep now."

" _When are you coming home?"_

Alfred glances at Ivan, who kisses his forehead. "The weather is pretty clear, so…tomorrow afternoon, I guess."

" _Alright, I'll tell Dixie. Oh, and Russia?"_

Ivan takes the phone and puts it to his ear. " _Da_?"

" _I may be considered a nice country. I am invisible and not nearly as strong as my brother. However, I know how to battle against General Winter and slip beneath radar undetected. You saw me fight during the World Wars. Hurt my brother, and you'll beg me to treat you as well as Germany."_

"MATTIE!" Alfred shouts, and he doesn't know whether it's the threat or his voice that makes Ivan cringe.

"I will remember," Ivan says.

" _Good. And he needs to be able to walk from the plane to the car tomorrow; I won't carry him."_

"MATTIE!" Alfred repeats, now much more crimson.

"Do not worry. I will be sure to keep his hips in working condition."

"You know what? Kill me!" Alfred rolls over and buries his face in a pillow. "KILL ME!"

" _That is all I have to say. Safe travels, Al. Goodbye."_

" _Da_ , goodbye."

Alfred just groans into his pillow again.

"I really do like your brother," Ivan says, rolling onto his stomach and resting his chin on Alfred's shoulder.

"He's overprotective," Alfred grumbles, muffled by pillow fluff, and Ivan spends a moment deciphering the words.

"I do not think he is overprotective."

"What do you call that then?"

Ivan pauses to kiss at the nape of Alfred's neck, making the other shiver. "You and Canada are twins, _da_?"

"Yeah, so?"

"I believe that twins have a much stronger relationship than normal siblings, so I think he just wants to make sure that you are happy and remain that way. When you are upset, it affects him as well."

Alfred shrugs.

"My sisters and I are not close, so sometimes, I envy your relationship with Canada and England."

"Why? I mean, why aren't you and your sisters close?"

Ivan runs his fingers through Alfred's hair as the other looks at him expectantly, the American's head now only partially hidden by the pillow. "After 1991, Katyusha's boss did not want Russia and Ukraine to be close, so I am no longer allowed to see her, or at least not often. Natalya is…obsessed with me, to a certain degree, and quite honestly, she terrifies me." Alfred gives him a weird look, but Ivan just shakes his head. "She wants to marry me for some reason. I love her as a sister but nothing more, obviously."

"Sounds kind of dysfunctional," Alfred says.

"I suppose that is accurate."

Alfred sighs contently, closing his eyes. "Can we just sleep today?"

"I do not mind."

"We should get take out for dinner."

"Alright."

"And watch scary movies tonight."

"If you would like."

Alfred opens his eyes again, staring at Ivan. "Are you just agreeing to everything I say so that I'll shut up?"

"Why would I do that?" Ivan frowns. " _Nyet_ , I simply want to spend today with you in whatever way you wish."

"Now you're getting sappy."

"Perhaps."

Alfred moves to cuddle up against the other, one arm thrown over Ivan's waist. "There's something seriously wrong with me."

"Why is that?" Ivan presses a kiss to sunshine-blonde hair.

"Like Mattie said, I went from thinking this was sunflower purgatory to…not wanting to leave."

Ivan smiles sadly. "I do not wish for you to leave either, but there is work to be done in your country."

"Yeah, I know."

"And what is this sunflower purgatory that you mention?"

"When you stuck me in the greenhouse the first day because the house was so cold, Mattie texted me about where I was and stuff, and I told him that I didn't want to call Dixie because I was in some sort of sunflower purgatory and there might be hidden cameras."

When Alfred glances up, Ivan's face is hurt, but before Alfred can say anything, the Russian asks, "You do not like my sunflowers?"

Alfred bursts into laughter.

"What is funny?"

"You're worried about me liking your sunflowers!"

"Why is that amusing?"

"Instead of getting mad because I didn't trust you or something, you're upset that I offended your sunflowers!"

Ivan sits up, dislodging the laughing American. "You are very cruel, _myshka_ , laughing at my distress."

"You're just too freaking cute!"

With a huff of annoyed amusement, Ivan shakes his head and starts reading again. Somewhere along the way, Alfred sleeps for a few more hours before he retrieves his laptop. They stay this way until Alfred's stomach growls. Not wanting to clean up anything, they snack on a few things and decide on ordering pizza a little bit later.

"I think I will shower early today," Ivan says while he holds Lapushka in his arms.

Alfred wants to smack himself because…wow, he's jealous of a cat.

Ivan continues, "If you do not mind nudity without sex…you are welcome to see how much Lapushka enjoys his showers."

Alfred agrees before he thinks it through and finds himself in a rather awkward situation. While Ivan is already naked and sits on a stool to brush Lapushka, Alfred slowly pulls his shirt off and folds it neatly on the counter, smoothing out the wrinkles with close precision.

"I have already seen you naked. Why are you modest?" Ivan asks with a frown, though he keeps his eyes on his task.

"I'm not being modest!" Alfred protests. "And that's different!"

"How so?"

"It just is!"

Ivan combs out the fur on Lapushka's tail. "I will not force you to do something you are not comfortable with."

With a small smile, Alfred murmurs, "I know." He strips off his pants, leaving him in his underwear with a blush. "Americans aren't as open about nudity as Russians, I guess."

"It is just your body. I do not see any reason to hide it."

"Uh, you're being kind of contradictory, you know."

"If I did not have as many scars, I would not mind you or any of my friends seeing me naked. There is a difference between nudity and sexual nudity."

Alfred finally pulls his underwear down. "So I'm just like Lapushka right now in terms of seeing you in all your glory?"

At that, Ivan chuckles. "If you wish to think of it in that way, _da_."

"Yeah, well…no one else gets to see me naked, so be happy," Alfred grumbles.

"I am ecstatic."

Alfred glares at the smiling Russian. "No flirting."

"And what makes you think that I am the one who usually begins such things?" Ivan asks with big, innocent eyes.

Alfred rolls his eyes. "You've done it enough times for me to be worried."

"Worried? About what exactly, _myshka_?"

"About getting a bon―" Alfred cuts himself off as blood rushes to his cheeks. "Nothing."

Ivan giggles, but doesn't push, knowing what the American is concerned about.

Alfred decides to get into the shower behind Ivan so that he doesn't become cold from the lukewarm water. That, and he still thinks that Lapushka will attack him when the water comes on.

However, Lapushka doesn't even growl. When Ivan says something in Russian, the cat sticks his paw into the water stream while his owner warms it steadily, and eventually, he meows and steps under the showerhead. Alfred just stares, unable to comprehend that the feline is more than happy to be washed. What is wrong with that cat?!

Once Lapushka hops out of the shower and sprawls out on a towel on the floor, Ivan asks, "Is this water too cold for you?"

Alfred nods, but then quickly changes his mind. "No, it's fine. Unless you want it warmer."

Judging by his smirk, Ivan knows why Alfred doesn't want a hot shower. "It feels rather hot to me. I suppose our body temperatures will always be different."

That floods Alfred's mind, but he tries to keep his imagination PG. New topic, new topic, anything that doesn't involve heat….

"My birthday!" Alfred announces.

Ivan raises an eyebrow as he switches sides with the American, washing his hair. "What about it?"

"Well, you're coming to it, right? I'm going to have a party on the Fourth of July."

"Was there ever a question of whether or not I would attend?"

"I mean, not really, but I want to make sure."

"What kind of boyfriend would I be if I missed your birthday? Especially after you made mine the best I have ever experienced."

Alfred smiles. "I guess you have a point."

"And where will this party be held?"

"Usually at my house. I live with Dixie a few miles from the White House." They switch sides again. "It's a big place, and I have a huge cake. France usually makes it, though now that I know he spends so much time with Artie, maybe I'll have someone else make it." Alfred pauses in thought. "And we dance some. Simple stuff like the 'Cha Cha Slide' and the 'Cotton-Eye Joe', but it's still fun. Maybe we'll do some slow dances this year."

"I would enjoy that," Ivan says.

"Good. There's a ton of people, too. The States, Mattie, the Provinces, Kiku, Artie, France, Spain, the Italy brothers, Germany, and Prussia. The Nordics have come the past few years."

"So we will not be the only couple there."

"Yeah, last year we actually did some sort of game about how well you know your partner. It was Allie and Kalani's idea."

"Kalani is California; who it Allie?"

"Alberta, one of the Provinces." Alfred slides under the water again. "Anyways, it was really fun."

"Who did you play with?"

"Mattie. I guess I should have figured it out when Arthur and France were partners and got every question right. I just thought it was because they hated each other so much."

"Hatred is a form of passion," Ivan says.

"They are very passionate then."

" _Da_ , I agree."

Oo_oO_Oo_oO

"Horror movies, _da_?"

"Yeah, the American ones," Alfred says around a mouthful of pizza as he scrolls through the Netflix titles.

"If you insist." Ivan wonders why Alfred sat in the curve of the couch. The pizza boxes are on the coffee table, and he has to reach over Ivan to pick up his next slice. Ivan also thinks that if Alfred has put away three pieces already, he'll finish the box before the movie loads.

In all honesty, Ivan thinks the movie Alfred picks is more on the boring side. It's just too cheesy for Ivan's tastes, and he doesn't find it scary at all. This is why he prefers comedy; he would rather laugh than be expected to scream.

However―

Luckily, Alfred has stopped eating, so when something appears behind the main character, pizza doesn't fly everywhere. Ivan finds himself as Alfred's teddy bear though. He doesn't mind the American clinging to him though, as he thinks that it's rather cute and likes holding the other. Alfred buries himself into the Russian's side, hiding half of his face in Ivan's shirt so that he can still see the screen.

Ivan glances down at the other. "Why do you watch movies that scare you?"

"I'm not scared!" Alfred says, though his voice is muffled by Ivan's chest.

"Of course not."

"Shut up."

Ivan giggles, which earns him a slap on the shoulder, but he ignores it.

And they watch more movies until late in the night. Alfred continues to deny being scared, even as he clings to Ivan and jumps at the slightest noises.

 **Author Note: As much as I hate to say it, the next chapter is the last, and I think it will likely be very short compared to the others. I don't know yet. Anyways, if you're looking forward to the next chapter and the sequel, please, Please, PLEASE REVIEW!**

 **A hint for next chapter:**

Dixie grins and pulls away, her stark white hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. Behind her, Matthew smiles. "Welcome home, Al."

"Yeah, thanks, but you seriously didn't need to come, dude. It's not like it's the only time I've ever been away."

Matthew gives him a very pointed "you-know-exactly-why-I'm-here-and-I-will-not-hesitate-to-say-it-aloud-in-front-of-your-kid" look. So Alfred continues, "But I'm glad you did! I missed you bunches, Mattie!"


	11. Letter

**Thank you to everyone who read, commented, favorited, or followed this story. CHECK OUT THE BOTTOM FOR INFORMATION ON THE SEQUEL!**

 _ **Kings**_

 _Chapter 11: Letter_

" _It's lucky that you were born in the South, so you can make fun of the distance between us. I'm lucky to have met you and your love of foreign countries. I would climb the Andes Mountains just to count your freckles. You celebrate and suffer in all my joys and sorrows. You know that…I'm at your feet._

" _With you, my darling, I want to spend the rest of my life. The rest of my life, I want to spend with you."_

―" _Suerte"/"Lucky" by Shakira [English Translation]_

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

The moonlight streams through the skylight, the only thing that illuminates the two figures on the bed. It's not too late, not even midnight, and even with most of their clothing still on their bodies, it's hard to determine where each begins and ends.

When Ivan sits up and moves to pull his shirt off, Alfred stops him, holding his hands. "Mattie said I have to be able to walk tomorrow. I mean, it won't be that bad, but I really don't want him to tease me about limping."

"I did not say that you would be on the bottom." Ivan rolls them over, steadying Alfred over him.

However, Alfred immediately shakes his head. "No."

The first thing that flashes across Ivan's face is confusion. Then frustration. Lastly, it's hurt, and Ivan furrows his brow and tilts his head to the side slightly. "No?"

"I want to, Ivan." Alfred closes his eyes. "I really, really do, but I don't want to…hurt you."

"I do not want you to treat me as if I am made of glass," Ivan replies.

"I'm not. Seriously, I know that you're strong." Alfred leans forward and presses his lips to Ivan's. While their tongues dance together, Alfred lets his hands wander down to Ivan's waistband. The reaction is immediate. Ivan's legs try to clamp together, though Alfred's hips prevented it, and his hands clenched into fists on Alfred's back.

Alfred pulls away, sitting back on his heels while Ivan looks to the side and brings his legs closer to himself. After a moment, the Russian murmurs, "It is not fair to you that―"

"Don't worry about that. I don't care about that stuff, and I enjoyed it, regardless about who's top and who's bottom." Alfred smiles sadly. "And when it's you, I want you to enjoy it just as much as I did. Something planned out and special, not quick before I leave."

"We had sex in my closet," Ivan deadpans.

"That's different."

Ivan glares at him. "No, it is not."

"Did you enjoy it any less?"

" _Nyet_ , of course not, but―"

"But nothing." Alfred moves forward, lying beside Ivan with one elbow under him to prop him up. "I don't understand it, but I know that it made you feel safer to be in the closet. That helped, didn't it?"

Ivan curls up against the other and tucks his head under Alfred's chin. " _Da_ , small spaces help. Occasionally, I will have panic attacks, and that is where I go to calm down."

While he rubs Ivan's back, Alfred says, "We can work though it together, alright?"

"Your birthday then."

"What about it?"

"When we celebrate your birthday, I want to bottom for you."

"Then tell me exactly what will help you."

Ivan closes his eyes and thinks about it. "No people. And I need some kind of noise that will relax me." Then he pulls away slightly to look at Alfred, amethyst mixing with sapphire. "I do not need anything big or elaborate. A bed covered in rose petals, candles, or champagne. I want you."

Alfred smiles. "I think I can manage that."

Oo_oO_Oo_oO

Alfred closes his eyes as he settles into the airplane seat. Dixie and Mattie will be waiting at the airport eleven hours from now. Until then, he plans to sleep and catch up on some of the work that he's missed.

He's never wanted July to come more quickly in his entire life. His lips still tingle from the tiny kiss Ivan had planted on them, but they couldn't do anything more than that and hug for a moment. Ivan had worried about what homophobes would do, though Alfred really didn't care. He just wondered how hard it would be to kidnap a country two inches taller and a good twenty pounds heavier than him. Sure, he has enough strength to do it, but Ivan would surely put up a fight. Or maybe he wouldn't.

 _Too late now_ , Alfred thinks as the plane takes off. Looking down at the envelope in his hand, he folds it and slides it into his pocket. A letter from Ivan to Matthew. Alfred doesn't know whether he should be happy or worried.

oO_Oo_oO_Oo

"Dad!"

Alfred grunts as his daughter flies into him and proceeds to squeeze him like a lemon for lemonade. "Good to see you, too, Dix."

Dixie grins and pulls away, her stark white hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. Behind her, Matthew smiles. "Welcome home, Al."

"Yeah, thanks, but you seriously didn't need to come, dude. It's not like it's the only time I've ever been away."

Matthew gives him a very pointed "you-know-exactly-why-I'm-here-and-I-will-not-hesitate-to-say-it-aloud-in-front-of-your-kid" look. So Alfred continues, "But I'm glad you did! I missed you bunches, Mattie!"

Dixie rolls her blue eyes. "Guys, I'm not five. What are you two trying to hide?"

"I'll explain in the car," Alfred mutters and stomps away to the luggage pickup.

However, the explaining part comes much sooner than Alfred would have liked, and he's not sure if he's glad to be in passenger seat or not. At least Matthew can't hit him or anything while he's driving.

"Okay, so spill it, Dad," Dixie says in the back seat.

Alfred takes a breath before he rushes, "I'm dating Russia."

There's a long moment of silence. Matthew doesn't say anything or even show any change whatsoever, but soon enough, Alfred can hear confused stutters behind him.

" _What_?" Dixie finally says.

"Exactly what I said." Alfred tries to sound firm, but it's harder to do when he feels like he's the one doing something wrong. "Ivan and I are dating."

"But…I mean…he's Russia! Cold War! Cuban Missile Crisis!" Dixie says. "And even now, we're not on the best terms with him."

Matthew glances at Alfred for a moment before he turns his eyes back to the road, emphasizing her point nonverbally. It's something Alfred hasn't ever mastered and envies his twin for. Of course, every country also thinks that his twin has no backbone and is only ever polite. A sneaky guy, Matthew is.

"I'm not dating him as a country. I'm dating Ivan as a person."

"How does that even work?"

"I don't know. If Artie and France can do it, so can we."

Dixie huffs, but she doesn't say anything else for the rest of the drive. It's not too far to their house, and Alfred finds himself wishing it would be farther.

Once they pull into the driveway, Dixie takes Alfred's bag inside, and Alfred nearly sneaks away after her―

"Where do you think you're going?" Matthew shuts the car door and leans back against it, crossing his arms.

"You said that all you need to know is that I'm happy!" Alfred whines as he trudges back to the car and slumps against it beside his brother.

"I still want to know the details about what happened. I trust you, not Russia."

Alfred frowns. "You don't have to trust him or even like him, but show a little more respect since he's my…boyfriend."

"Give me a reason." Matthew narrows his eyes at the other, the violet darkening. "You've never acted like this towards anyone."

"Do you remember that time you punched me for joking about France being a rapist?"

"Very clearly."

"It's the same thing."

"You insulting my father is different from me not liking your choice of partner."

"Not really."

They stand in silence for a moment.

After a while, Matthew sighs, his voice softening. "Alright. Just tell me how this came about."

Alfred shrugs. "I don't really know. I mean, he's not bad. He's actually a lot like France in some ways, being misunderstood and all."

"Since when do you think that Francis is misunderstood?"

"I guess since Ivan gave me a different point of view." Alfred looks at the trees around the house. Technically, they're just outside of D.C., but it's not such a big deal that Alfred usually specifies that. "Anyways, we started getting closer, and it just sort of…happened. I know we moved really fast, but…I'm happy. Like, I can't even put it into words. I already miss him so much, and I feel like such a schoolgirl with a crush, but I'm just so happy." He glances at his brother. "Does that sound crazy?"

"That sounds like love."

Alfred quickly averts his gaze. "No, I don't think that it's love. I mean, not yet at least."

"Of course." Matthew's lips are twitching.

"You're laughing at me!" Alfred points at the Canadian.

"I'm not laughing at you, Al." Matthew lets his lips pull into a smile. "I just think that you're confused about everything when it's so obvious."

Alfred huffs and crosses his arms. "Yeah, what's obvious, smart guy?"

"That you're falling in love with him."

This time, Alfred doesn't say anything. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the envelope. He hands it to his brother. "Here. Ivan wanted me to give this to you."

Matthew takes it with a smile. "I'll read it later. For now, how about some pancakes?"

Alfred grins. "Oh, Mattie, I love you!"

"Of course. How could I possibly think otherwise?" Matthew says as he follows his brother into the house.

Oo_oO_Oo_oO

 _Dear Matthew Williams,_

 _I am quite sure that by now Alfred is home safely. I also know that you take after your father in many aspects and are very protective. It must be quite a surprise for your brother to return home after a mere week and announce that he is the lover of his former enemy, and if one of my sisters were to do such a thing, I would immediately suspect ulterior motive._

 _I know that I cannot possibly ease your mind about such things, but I wish to make it very clear that I want to keep Alfred and Ivan separate from the United States of America and the Russian Federation._

 _With that said, I am unsure about the protocol for these kinds of things and I have never dated someone before. I think it is marriage that I am supposed to ask for a blessing, so until any such time, I would simply ask that you allow me to prove my love for Alfred to you. He has invited me to his birthday celebration in July, and I would like to formally ask for your permission to court him then._

 _I apologize that this is all very sudden, but Alfred and I have discussed this and we decided that we are both adults and therefore can determine how quickly is too quickly._

 _Thank you for reading this letter, as it would mean a great deal to me that I have the approval of Alfred's most beloved person in the world, and please keep him from doing anything too ridiculous until July._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Ivan Braginsky_

 **Author Note: Yes, the chapter was much shorter than I usually post, but it couldn't be helped. Thank you all so much for reading! If you're excited for the next part, please, Please, PLEASE REVIEW!**

 **The name of the sequel is** _ **Love?**_ **, and I will post it next Friday, so be on the look-out for it!**

 **A hint for** _ **Love?**_

 _Alfred is just a little bit anxious to see Ivan again._

Arthur can't help but stare as Alfred sits on the floor in front of the door. Everyone else is in between the foyer and living room, setting up tables and moving furniture.

" _Angleterre_ , leave him be." Francis appears behind Arthur, wrapping the other in his arms. "He is simply lovesick."

 _While Alfred and Ivan are working out the next step in their relationship, there seems to be something bothering Matthew._

"I think that Alfred will believe what he wants to believe, so there's the answer to your second question. As for you, you're going to say that you're always there for me and tell me that I _should_ get this worked out." Matthew picks up his half-full wine cooler and drains it.

"And what are you going to do?" Francis asks.

Matthew shrugs. "Well, I don't know exactly. I should be pretty drunk after two or three more of these―" He wiggles the empty bottle. "―and I hear that alcohol is an amazing aphrodisiac. Maybe I'll change out a White Russian for a white Prussian."

 _And then in all of this madness, Alfred can't help but wonder…_

Does he love Ivan?

 **Well, until then―!**

 **Happy Writing,**

 **Crowsnight**


End file.
